


Dignity, Devotion, and Darkspawn

by samzillastomps



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Alistair's amulet, Crying, Eilwyn is doing her best, Eilwyn is pretty sure she's projecting haha, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Finger Sucking, Grief, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, I do..., Jealousy, Kisses, Memories, Mourning, Mutual Masturbation, New Relationship, Poor Timing, Regret, Second Base, Self-Doubt, Touching, Vaginal Fingering, a little invitation, a quick first kiss, a very cute little first meeting, basically Hella Fluff, confrontations and arguments, cullen is angry and hurt, cute sleeping side by side, did you blink and miss it?, do I spy some UST??, even if they are just in a dream, fade crushes, fluff to come don't worry, heartwarming chats and heartfelt convos, makeout sessions, more UST, okay so defs some sexual tension, over the clothes masturbation, playful straddling, rather... a hint at some, sleeping together without SLEEPING TOGETHER know what I mean, smiles and piggyback rides, soft Alistair, sometimes you just wanna see two weirdos flirting!!, technically over the clothes anyway...., technically they're both still virgins but they're definitely testing that boundary, woof guys like seriously
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-26
Updated: 2018-12-27
Packaged: 2019-04-08 08:14:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 33
Words: 208,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14101194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/samzillastomps/pseuds/samzillastomps
Summary: Eilwyn Amell has left the only place of security she's ever known, heartbroken and homesick. Her manners and etiquette can only take her so far before her anxiety takes over, and that leaves her terrified of what she is forced to face in the oncoming Blight. With the help of a sort-of Templar, however, she manages to calm her roiling emotions long enough to deal with the task at hand and learn about herself in the process.This is a story about the softest cinnamage-roll falling for the warm, awkward warrior with a heart of roses... and at the same time, it's a story of two Wardens trying their best to navigate horrible things while still appreciating the sweet.





	1. Awkward Greetings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eilwyn Amell (pronounced 'isle-when') is the same Warden from my Cullen standalone. Some overlap of their time together will thread throughout the fic here and there, from her POV ^^

_“_ _Now is the time to say your goodbyes, child.”_

It had been a courteous offer. One that Eilwyn Amell might have taken First-Enchanter Irving up on, had she anyone left to say goodbye to. There were none that held love for her. She had betrayed Jowan, her only true friend, the only one who truly understood her and her infatuation with Ser Cullen. They’d been confidants through it all, up until she’d gone to the First-Enchanter and ended up confessing what he had planned.

A swift and traitorous end to their friendship. All because of some misplaced sense of what was right and what was wrong. Perhaps atonement for her own guilt, her own treacherous heart. A self-sacrifice, in a way that sacrificed nothing of herself.

It wasn’t his involvement with the Sister that Eilwyn disapproved of. It was that she had known, in her heart of hearts, that he had delved into a darker place than she could follow. He had pursued someone forbidden, and she both envied and hated him for it. The rumors, the mere speculation of him cutting himself open to gain power from the flow of his veins, made her deeply uncomfortable just to think about. Having _seen it,_ having seen what Jowan had done with his own hand… the way the blade had sliced deep into the meat of his palm, past layers of too much wet flesh into what looked like bone…

There was nobody left to say goodbye to, when the time came for goodbyes to be said.

She had hugged the First-Enchanter, already crying, and attempted to look as if she knew what she was doing by leaving with Duncan. By being forced to leave with Duncan. Her most polite mannerisms took over, her etiquette instincts propelling her into a posture of grace when she felt only fear. She asked to stay only once, and Duncan had looked on her with patient kindness as Irving gently pried Eilwyn’s arms from his neck and held her wrists before him.

_“Have faith in how you handle yourself, Eilwyn. You will be alright.”_

In the moment, Eilwyn had believed him, as she always believed her elders. There was no reason she should not excel among a new community. She was sharp, observant, and loved to make others smile. She could play instruments, draw pictures, and were it not for the way her mana pulsed from her fingertips like fireflies when she was overwhelmed, she could have been a well-bred noblewoman. Ignoring the threat of Darkspawn, those traits alone were a recipe for immediate acceptance... or so she figured.

So she had nodded, and she had left.

At first, being outside of the Circle was enough to keep her mind occupied. The smell of a forest at night, the sound of crunching leaves under hooves of their beasts, the crackle of an open flame as the embers licked up high to join the stars above them- it was all beautiful and new to her. She slept outside of a tent, merely unfurling her bedroll beneath the large expanse of sky, gripping the grass on either side of her body, scared she would float away and half-praying that she would.

One night, the rain came, and Duncan led her into a small farming outpost where they traded a few silvers for a night sleeping in the stable. It was a roof, at least. As she wrung out her hair, pulling its impossible length over one shoulder, Eilwyn had inhaled the smell of wet pine, sweet hay, and loamy earth churned into gravelly mud from the occasional traveler. The aroma of the night had changed about her, now it was light and somehow _more_ , positively dripping with cedar bark.

She recognized the cedar smell since the library tables were made from those very same logs. But the other smells, she could not place, and that sense of being inside a bigger world than she had previously known was enrapturing. It was the best perfume she’d ever had the pleasure of smelling. Before now, she had only ever sat on the edges of window overlooking Lake Calenhad, breathing in the freshness of a thunderstorm looming on the horizon. Even at the window, the smell of lyrium and ink and stone was so pervasive that she could barely enjoy it. Being so thoroughly outside was both amazing and terrifying, and even though her robes chafed the following morning from where she had not dried them… Eilwyn was happy.

It was a beautiful feeling, however fleeting it was.

As they rode further towards Ostagar over the next few days, Duncan seemed to grow contemplative and quiet. Or maybe he was merely tired. Eilwyn couldn’t tell, but she didn’t want to intrude, much as she had more questions she was looking to ask. In his silence, she was lost in her own thoughts, and her eagerness gave way to steady anxiety. Much as she tried to understand the noises, the smells, the shapes about their path, she was left entirely at the mercy of a man lost in quiet contemplation. A man she truthfully knew little to nothing about. The nature about her suddenly contained less beauty and more teeth.

While they were watering their horses, she almost stepped into a nest of river snakes. Duncan caught her elbow at the last second, and taught her how to look for signs of such things in the future. When she wasn’t paying attention, she rode through spiderwebs and found the creatures clinging her like venomous brooches. Duncan helped her to brush her hair out, reassuring her that even as her skin itched that they were gone from her tresses. At night, she could not get warm no matter how she layered herself in her blankets, her tent poorly erected and leaving gaps between her and the cold ground. Duncan helped where he could, advised her when she asked, but she began to feel as though she was becoming burdensome. Even when he reacted with an almost fatherly warmth to her questions and her mishaps, she couldn’t shake the idea that she should _know better._

With every passing day, she felt less and less equipped to survive in such a world, less and less equipped to fight blighted _darkspawn_ for the king in such a world. Perhaps she had made a mistake. Perhaps Duncan had made a mistake, and perhaps he knew it, and perhaps that was why he was quiet. She rode with a heavy coil about her heart, secretly lamenting her quick departure.

She hadn’t even had time to say goodbye to Cullen.

Of course he hadn’t been there when everything happened with Jowan, and it had all happened quickly. Cullen wouldn’t have had a chance, even should he have wished to bid her goodbye. It wasn’t his shift to begin with… and if Eilwyn was being honest, he had been avoiding her since she’d confessed how she felt to him.

_“It would be innapropriate to do anything more than-”_

Remain friends, wasn’t that what Cullen had said? But then he didn’t seem to have the capacity to do so. When they did talk after that, it was about his vows. Or her duties to the Circle. Or the fact that he was put in charge of striking her down should she not suffer successfully through her Harrowing.

That last one stung the most. Not that he would have done it, but that he thought to even tell her. As if it was something to be proud of. As if she should have been happy to die at his hands. As if he were atoning by confessing it to her and she should feel something in regards to it, something besides anguish.

He had been the last of her ties, besides Jowan and the First Enchanter. Without Cullen, without the rest of them, Eilwyn was finally seated in her solitude.

Riding along behind Duncan up to Ostagar’s gate, consumed by the thought that she was well and truly alone now after having spent her entire life in the safety of the Circle walls, she barely registered when Duncan began to leave her. She replied with politeness, clipped and small in her voice, but he had smiled at her regardless. As if he understood she was in some kind of shock.

He was leaving her on her own. He said something to her, of course. He told her where he would be, or something, and she replied with something… but her mind just hadn’t grasp what it had been. She remembered  to ask for clarification, and Duncan asked her if she was alright.

_Maker, who even knows_.

He did repeat himself for her, though. She was to find someone, a Grey Warden named Alistair, and then she was to find Duncan again.

Resisting the urge to break down, Eilwyn tried to steel herself. She had faced a demon in the fade- more than one even! She could do this!

Squaring her shoulders, she began to cross the bridge to Ostagar with slow, even steps.

The first two men she met were not who she was intended to meet, apparently. She figured out that they were also prospective Wardens, new and anxious as she was. Well, perhaps not in the same way she was. Eilwyn doubted that these people had the natural instinct to tear up at the first sign of intimidation.

One seemed just as homesick as she was, perhaps more. He said he had a wife. The other seemed darkly eager, almost combative in his nerves, and she liked talking to him much less. Eilwyn remembered their names - _Jory, Daveth_ \- as she walked on in pursuit of the Grey Warden she was meant to meet.

After she moved past mages, after she passed by a Chanter preaching benedictions, Eilwyn was finally facing the stone fortress ahead. Uncertain of where else this man Alistair could possibly be hiding, she considered leaving and going to find Duncan. But then she caught sight of two people seemingly in an argument past a few pine trees and what looked to be the skeletal remnants of a cathedral. Hesitantly, almost as if she shouldn’t have even been there in the first place, she approached.

It was two men, one in mage robes that Eilwyn didn’t recognize, and one in armor that looked like Duncan’s.

That must have been him. The Grey Warden she needed to find.

The two men were disputing something that Eilwyn couldn’t really internalize. About Duncan? No. About the Chantry. About a messenger. Grey Wardens were messengers? She shook her head, hugging her arms about herself as she waited for her courage to return. When the mage stormed off, leaving the Grey Warden alone, she finally stepped forward.

“Pardon me, ser. I couldn’t help but overhear. Wh-what was that all about?” she asked, trying to keep things light, unsure of how to start a conversation with the person before her. What was his name? Duncan had told her several times. She just couldn’t remember.

_Wait. Alistair, right?_

“Oh. The usual,” the man before her said with an easy smile. “You know the one good thing about the Blight is how it brings people together.”

She tried to laugh. She did. But for some reason as soon as she smiled back, Eilwyn’s eyes glossed over with tears. When she tried to speak past them, only a little sob escaped her lips. Immediately she clapped a hand over her lips, staring down at Alistair’s chestplate as she tried to regain her composure.

“Shoot, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, bad joke,” he said, and she could see him hesitate with one hand up like he was going to touch her shoulder and didn’t know how. She had seen that hesitance before, back when she had cried near Cullen. Or rather, when she’d come close to crying near him. Cullen, too, had reached up, almost as if he were going to pat her on the shoulder, and then thought better of it. Eilwyn closed her eyes against the memory.

When a hand touched her skin, she flinched hard. Immediately, he gentled the grip, moving it towards her collarbone, his palm large but somehow still nonthreatening.

“Shh, please don’t cry. Did you, ah,” Alistair was fumbling before her, and she blinked open her eyes to better take him in. She could feel hot, fat tears rolling down her cheeks, could feel her chest ache with the effort of holding back the hiccuping breaths she wanted to take with every hard sniffle. Eilwyn knew that she must’ve looked a damn fool, but Alistair’s expression was not judgmental, and it was not nervous. If anything, he seemed to be a little relieved. “We haven’t met, have we?”

She shook her head, one hand still covering her mouth. Alistair’s eyes softened, and his mouth quirked up at the corner with a devious little grin.

“I don’t suppose you happen to be another mage?” he asked.

Eilwyn’s eyes grew wider, guilt positively exploding within her chest. Tears flowed freely from her eyes, without her even having to blink now. As he registered her expression, Alistair’s hand tightened at her shoulder, and his lips twisted in a regretful grimace.

"I didn't mean-"

Past her fingers, she whispered, “Would that make your day worse, if I was?”

“No, no no no,” Alistair’s hand at her shoulder rubbed a soothing circle with its thumb, digging into the muscles there only enough to give her a playful shake. “I only ask because I was expecting you. I should have recognized you right away, I apologize.”

“That’s a-alright,” Eilwyn murmured, “No offense taken.”

In truth, she was insanely relieved he wasn’t angry. Or disdainful. Or merely even ignoring her. Eilwyn was so used to being ignored by men in armor when she tried to get their attention that this was almost enough to jar her from her sadness.

He didn’t stop, either. His touch changed, friendly and warm, to a loose grip about the ball of her shoulder, away from her clavicle.

She was so grateful he was anchoring her with a touch that she didn’t flinch when he smoothed a line up and down her bicep with his flattened palm. It was a gesture one might do on the back of a child with an upset stomach, firm enough to massage, but gentle enough not to hurt. It was nothing more than that, and yet it felt powerfully important at the same time.

“Take a breath.”

She obeyed him, inhaling a shuddering breath and then letting it out quick. The second breath came quicker, shallower, and the third came even without her volition followed quickly by a fourth and fifth. Eilwyn dropped her hand so that she could fan at her face with her fingers. She closed her eyes, her chest painful constricted, her throat tight, her breaths shallow and small.

“I can’t,” she whispered, panic setting in. She screwed her eyes shut, memories of her Harrowing cropping up. So suddenly had she gone from an everyday, safe routine to demons and betrayal and blood magic… and soon there would be darkspawn. It was more than she could bear.

_Nobody to miss you. Nobody to care. You don’t matter enough to even be here. Had they had the numbers you would never have been recruited. You have no experience-_

“You have to calm yourself,” Alistair said firmly.

“I can’t-” she went to repeat, but was interrupted.

“You can. But don’t focus on your breathing, though, just focus on my voice.”

His other hand was on her opposite shoulder, and the weight of his palms were more of a comfort than his words. Eilwyn nodded, tears still streaking freely down her cheeks. She would try. It was much preferrable to the emotional spiral she found herself falling down at the moment.

“When I was little,” he said, “I found out I was very good at rambling. So good, in fact, that if it had been an event in the grand tourney, you would be looking at the grand champion." Alistair lowered his voice, but did not slow his words. "Breathe. So while you’re calming down, I’m going to tell you about the first thing that comes to my mind. Sounds like fun, right? Make sure you breathe, but listen too.”

“O-okay,” Eilwyn gasped, trying to work past the hyperventilating to a place where she didn’t feel so light headed. She reached out, holding his forearms to steady herself. She felt Alistair pushing her shoulders back, opening her airways, expanding her chest.

She let him. She relaxed into his hands, and he began to speak.

“I remember this game I used to play as a kid. Maybe you remember it too? You and a friend would hold out both of your hands with only your index fingers out, and you would take turns trying to make the other person hold out more fingers. Do you know what I’m talking about?”

Eilwyn shook her head, the image unfamiliar. She had no idea.

“That’s fine, that’s actually better. Listen and try to imagine it.”

She nodded, and Alistair continued.

“Technically,” he said, “you both start with one finger each. Someone goes first and taps the other person’s hand. Whichever hand, doesn’t matter, right or left. They tap the other person’s hand with their one finger, and the other person now has to lift one extra finger on that hand that was tapped. The game is all about addition, you see.”

“Okay,” Eilwyn said softly, breaths coming easier. The pain in her chest was still there, as if a great beast was sitting atop her and weighing her down, but this was actually helping. She could feel her hands growing warm as her mana pooled about her extremities, but Alistair didn’t seem to notice.

Or maybe he didn’t mind. Maybe he just trusted her not to hurt him.

“So let’s say that person has two fingers on that hand, right?” he continued. “They can tap one of _your_ hands with the two finger hand, and now you have to raise _two_ fingers. Maybe they chose to make you raise two on your hand that had one, maybe they chose to make your other hand have more fingers. Either way works. And so it goes until one of you has five fingers up on one hand.”

“Wh-what happens then?” she asked, eyes still closed, lips still parted. “When you have five?”

“Then that hand is out. You win when you’ve made the other person raise all ten fingers. When both their hands are useless.”

He paused, and Eilwyn finally opened her eyes.

Alistair was watching her, gauging her for signs of further trauma. He didn’t seem frightened of her, even with the harmless little baubles of firefly-like sparkles that were ringing about her fingernails in her panicked state. Alistair was either too oblivious to have caught sight of them, or too kind to comment on them.

“Were you good at this game?” she asked, swallowing with difficulty after her words.

“The best,” he stated, and a sense of relief seemed to wash over him. “I’ll show you sometime.”

Eilwyn realized how close she was to him only when his glance fell to her lips. It was an innocuous flick of his eyes, and he didn’t seem affected by their closeness at all. She was a crying, frightened mess, of course he was more concerned than anything. Staring up at the sky, Eilwyn swiped both of her hands over her cheeks, just beneath her eyes, trying to dry up all the salt she’d cried over herself.

When she was no longer leaking frustration from her eyes, she brought her gaze back to the Grey Warden before her. He had dropped his hands from her, his face open and patient. Eilwyn took a breath, steady this time, deep to the bottom of her lungs, and then let it out slow.

“Better?” he asked.

She nodded, trying not to feel embarrassed at her lack of self-control. It probably happened to a lot of prospective Wardens, especially if they had never really traveled before.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “You probably expect more of your recruits.”

“Don’t be silly,” he said, his voice bright and jovial. “I just had myself a good long sob not even five minutes ago. It’s actually a Grey Warden tradition to work ourselves up into a great huge panic before a battle, you see. Then the darkspawn lend us their hankies, and while they’re distracted we crush them to bits. You’re incredibly intuitive to have picked that up and gone for it on your own.”

She snorted a little laugh, grinning despite herself.

“Now that we’ve gotten a few sobs out of the way, I suppose we should have some proper introductions?” He stepped back from her and gave her a respectful little bow. “Welcome to Ostagar. As the junior member of the order, I’ll be accompanying you as you prepare for the Joining.”

She extended the hand that had not covered her lips moments ago.

“Pleased to meet you. My name’s Eilwyn Amell.”

“Eilwyn,” he repeated, taking her hand in his to shake it. “Sounds rather like your parents named you Island and then just barely thought better of it, doesn’t it?”

“It never really occured to me,” she said with a little shrug. She sniffled, then added, “But yes, now that you mention it, it does. I might never be able to unhear it. Thank you for that.”

“My introductory gift to you,” he said happily. “I’m Alistair.”

“Yes, I figured as much,” Eilwyn said, and belatedly she realized she had kept holding his hand even after he was done shaking it. She dropped it calmly, trying not to draw attention to the fact, and used both hands to pull her hair over one shoulder. “From your armor, I mean. And the conversation you were having.”

"You are a clever one!"

Eilwyn gave a little huff of a laugh, one that she immediately regretted. What if she offended him? Her first meeting and she wasn't conducting herself in a very ladylike manner, now was she?

“You know,” Alistair said, stepping back and giving her a playful glance up and down. “It just occured to me that there have never been that many women in the Grey Wardens. I wonder why that is?”

“I can handle myself,” she said, fully aware that her hiccups were still audible. “Better than most,” she added with a rueful smile, poking fun at herself. Alistair seemed pleased, grinning back at her broadly.

“I could see that.” He paused, then tilted his head to the side. Slowly, he drawled, “Would you like to talk about it?”

“About how I handle myself?” Eilwyn asked feebly, attempting a joke. It fell flat, and she couldn’t muster a smile anymore. Alistair waited, watching her with an air of interest, and she swallowed hard.

He was handsome. She’d only just noticed, but he was. And young. How young? Younger than her? Young enough to be friends with? Just as eagerness bloomed within her breast once more, a noiseless voice within her began to shear it down.

_You are not here to make friends. You are here to fight darkspawn. You are a mage, a recruit, and nothing more to even other Grey Wardens._

“No, that’s alright. I’m sorry. Don’t let me take up too much time blubbering,” Eilwyn said to herself, her eyes downcast. She set her jaw against the onslaught of loneliness and longing that seemed to accompany that phrase. She looked up at Alistair, searching his expression. “Everything’s just happened really quickly.”

“Mmm,” he nodded. “Bad things do have a habit of doing that, don’t they?”

Eilwyn gave a shuddering sigh, feeling less than capable of undergoing many more Bad Things, but then Alistair stepped closer to her with his two fists extended.

“Here, hold out your hands.”

Immediately, she obeyed, her brow furrowed.

“Put out one index finger on each hand,” he said with a grin. Flicking his eyes up to hers, Alistair gave her a charming little head tilt. “You can go first, if you like.”

“I just… tap your hand?”

“Yes. But tap strategically, my lady. I have yet to decide whether I will be merciful with you.”

“You already have been,” Eilwyn said softly.

“What? Oh, you mean with the crying and the breathing. Nonsense,” Alistair said, his boastful tone of voice betrayed by the way his cheek flushed pink and pleased. “That was just to lull you into a false sense of security for the game.”

Eilwyn tapped his right with her left. Immediately, he extended his middle finger, then tapped the back of her left hand right as she’d pulled it back. She had to extend two fingers, making her total three on that hand.

Grinning, she tapped Alistair’s two-fingered hand, forcing him to have five and put it away. He put it behind his back with a little scoff, and then tapped her left hand with his left. Her total became four. She looked up at him triumphantly, tapping his single-digit with four of her fingers, forcing him to put his other hand behind his back.

“I thought you said you always won,” she chided.

“There are other levels you know, more tricks to it besides just this,” he said, sounding a bit put out. But when Eilwyn leaned forward to get a better look at his face, he burst into a grin as if he couldn’t help himself. “But you do know how to handle yourself, I’ll give you that,” he replied, his eyes alight. “Better than most.”

“I think it was just beginner’s luck.”

“Good! Then that means you’ll play again, right?”

Eilwyn laughed out loud, a little noise that felt good, familiar. Much better than the tightness from before.

“Tell you what,” Alistair said, pulling his hands from behind his back and motioning towards the rest of Ostagar. “I can take you to Duncan directly, if you like. Or,” he leaned over to her as if he were about to divulge a great secret, “you and I could take a walk about the grounds before we go find Duncan, we could have a chat or two, and maybe, just maybe… we can have a rematch.”

“Deal,” Eilwyn said, relief humming through her in a happy vibrato, as if she were a series of tight harp strings and Alistair’s companionship was a gently strum across her being. “Are junior Grey Wardens supposed to play children’s games with new recruits in their free time?”

“It is yet another vast and far-reaching tradition, passed down from junior recruit to junior recruit,” Alistair laughed. His eyes seemed to darken a bit, or maybe it was a trick of the light. He turned to her with a smaller smile this time. “You’ll see soon enough.”

“I’m looking forward to traveling with you, Alistair,” Eilwyn said honestly, turning to him with a grateful smile.

“Right,” he said, looking a bit pink about his ears now. “Let’s hope I don’t ruin that, then!”

Eilwyn laughed once more, and they both began to walk lazily towards the center of the camp with a lightness in their step that hadn’t been there before. Even with the weight of the fear on their shoulders, with the darkness around them, with war on the horizon and darkspawn beneath it, there was something sweet in that moment.

Maybe it was the way the sun was setting over the valley beyond them. Maybe it was the way Alistair opened up to her about himself, about the Wardens, and about Duncan a bit more. Or maybe it was something else, something intangible.

Even though she struggled to put her finger on what precisely it was, something clicked into place with Eilwyn. For the first time since her Harrowing, she had a vague sense of hopefulness. It was a desire to belong to something more than herself, to do good that would outlast her time in the corporeal world, and to be more than what she was to the people around her.

 No longer wallowing in loneliness, Eilwyn Amell let her shoulders roll back in confidence, and followed Alistair on a tour about the camp with a definitive bounce in her step.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sweet and innocent, I played Eilwyn with all the naivety I could muster. Even when it broke my dingdang heart.
> 
> Oh, also, Alistair is referencing [this game here](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chopsticks_\(hand_game\)). And he deliberately didn't tell her the full rule set, so that he could let her win. He's a big dummy but he's not stupid, if that makes sense haha.


	2. Shared Grief

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be taking some liberties with canon-dialogue and timing in this fic, because otherwise we would be here all day. Consider this a highlight reel of their budding relationship instead of a play-by-play the way my Inquisition fics tend to run ^^;;

Something didn’t feel right.

Eilwyn blinked hard, trying to place it, but the meal seemed pretty normal. Jowan was mumbling over breakfast like he usually did about his restrictions in the library. Eilwyn could smell the warm eggs and toast, the creaminess of butter so close to her lips. Just behind her, she could smell the acrid armor oil only the Templars used. Her heart beat faster, the mere potential of seeing the man who served as her guard bringing an unparalleled thrill with it. Beyond that, there was parchment and cedar. For a moment, she breathed in a full breath, and she was home.

But then pain wracked her body, clutching at how deeply she’d inhaled, clawing at the bottom of her lungs. She blinked once more and saw an unfamiliar ceiling, and she knew that she was laying down because from this angle she had no idea where the exit was, where _up_ was, where she had even come from.

Hard stone underneath harder armor, bruises on her joints and bones jutting into flesh like a dashed jigsaw puzzle. Her breathing was shallow, fast, painful, as if liquid were just behind her throat but she had no way to cough it out. She could feel things within her that didn’t belong, foreign objects that held sturdy and painful when she moved, caught in her armor and the meat of her torso. She could smell the coppery slip of blood, the mildewing rot of darkspawn, and the smoke of a fire lit to no avail.

She was going to die here.

It washed over her all at once, grief and railing sadness and anger and then…

Nothing. Acceptance. Eilwyn knew she’d come here to be useful, had joined the Grey Wardens as a sacrifice, and she’d tried her best to be what they had needed when they had needed it. When she had been given the task to light the flame with Alistair, she had secretly rejoiced. She had not wanted to face her fears, to fight a battle, but when push came to shove she had not shied away from it as it fell to her shoulders. She'd pushed alongside of her fellow Warden, pushed up to the tallest space, and had lit the flame as she was instructed. The Maker would not find her lacking when she knelt before him, and would surely judge that she had used her magic to serve her fellow man. For a little magelet from the Circle, one who’d only ever known the tower walls, she had done well.

As she was about to close her eyes, her mind working so quickly that time seemed to slow down about her like a curtain of mist, Eilwyn saw Alistair laying at her side. The fading of her mind seemed to lash out, her mana curling about her brain like a clammy fog parted by a sharp ray of sun, forcing her to wake up, forcing her to blink harder to clear her vision.

“Alistair?”

She couldn’t be sure if she said his name aloud, or if her lips merely mouthed the word, but he gave a cry and held up his shield against another barrage of arrows. It was too much for him, and their pattering against his shield arm tossed the gigantic metal plate to the side as if his arm was made of twine and brittle straw. One arrow glanced off and caught her in the thigh, a dull pain that didn’t permeate the level of shock her body was being thrown into. She heard him gasping, groaning, struggling to fight onward. Only one thought managed to make its way past the dullness Eilwyn was trapped in.

_If I die now, that means I leave Alistair to fight alone._

She marveled at this predicament she found herself in. A mage, stripped of her Circle to become a Warden. A Templar, stripped of his Order to do the same. Two people, normally two who would have never even caught the other’s eye, left to die with only the other as company. Beyond them, their brethren falling to hordes of unholy monsters, more people stripped of their titles and pasts and given a chance to atone. Most likely falling, as they had fallen. At the door, there came a clamoring of more darkspawn, hastily coming to feast on their corpses.

Eilwyn knew what she had to do.

Instinctively, she reached for Alistair, even as her limbs hung leaden against the cold stone floor. She fumbled for him, her sides gripped with pain that sent her vision spiraling into white. She could feel wetness at her back, sticking her to the floor, but still she reached. Her other hand went to her staff where it lay half-pinned beneath her body, her fingers curling about its wood even as another arrow hit whizzed past her ear and pinged up from the stone floor.

Alistair’s fingers found hers, and she could see out of the corner of her eye that he was crawling towards her as well. Arrows were embedded into his shoulder, his forehead dark with blood that could have been his own. With the last of her reserves, the last beat of her heart, Eilwyn let out a pitiful cry and cast a barrier about his shoulders.

That was it. All she had to give. She fell back onto the floor, still gripping his hand tightly, and she felt a dose of satisfaction accompanying the great fatigue that settled into her bones. Her final sensation before blackness overtook her was of Alistair reaching out and shielding her body with his own, the shimmer of her weak magic already fading from his torso.

_He doesn’t smell like a Templar should. He smells like flowers._

* * *

 

If the Fade is where all dreams reside, perhaps Eilwyn was on the outskirts of it. Images flashed by her softly, slowly, like curtains billowing over a headboard with the breeze of a lazy summer morning. She could not pinpoint them all, but they left stains of feelings behind in their wake.

Nostalgia.

Loneliness.

Devotion.

Empathy.

Were these spirits, licking at her fingertips like candle flames, moving past her so quickly that her skin never burnt? Or were they merely memories, silhouettes of a time long past?

She slept deeply, and soundly. She did not stir, and perhaps this was what death meant. It was not truly a cease of existence, not fully. She wondered vaguely where she would end up, what she would end up as. She held onto no bitterness, so she would not distort in her deceased state. Would she come back as a ghost, walking the battlefield? Would someone pray for her, in her absence? Would she finally meet the Maker's Bride?

Would Cullen mourn her, once the Circle was informed of their failure at Ostagar?

The thought stirred something deep within her, a forcefulness and stubbornness that belied her polite exterior. The idea that Cullen would hear of her death, would accept it with stoicism because he could not outwardly show anything else, not even that they had been friends… the thought bled into her with sad injustice. It steeled her with its earthly frustration, pushed her to be more conscious. If the fade was water surrounding her, if she had been floating up until now, the thought spurred her into beginning to tread where she lay.

_This was not how I wanted Cullen to remember me._

And maybe it didn’t have to be. She could feel things now, more than what she’d felt drifting in and out of consciousness. She could feel the tips of her fingers, her wrists, something across her middle, her eyes moving against her lids. They were faint sensations, to be sure, but they were there nonetheless.

Should that not count for something? Her corporeal form was still there, which meant she wasn’t totally dead, not yet. She had accepted that she was going to die, but now there was another option. Eilwyn wanted to live. Not as a memory whispered with reverence from lips who had refused to kiss hers when they had the chance, but as a woman of flesh and blood, as a Grey Warden, as a mage who did the best she could to protect her king and now wanted to continue to serve in the wake of her failure.

She wanted to live, damn it!

A deep inhale, a deeper one than she had taken in what felt like hours, maybe days, stirred her from her sleep. It hit the bottom of her lungs, expanded her stomach, and she could exhale without pain. She did it again, and again, then held her breath as she moved in what felt like a bed. Even bracing herself, there was little pain in her sides, and she could hear a fire crackling somewhere nearby.

A fire.

Eilwyn let the air out of her lungs in a startled gasp and sat up with a start, her body light and her heart heavy. Eyes open, she couldn’t recognize where she was for a moment. The stone tower walls were gone, the rich metallic scent of blood gone, and in its place she could smell tomatoes cooking over a flame. It felt like she'd been blindfolded and spun around several times before being told to run forward.

With a groan, she leaned back against the pillows, her head swimming.

“Ah, your eyes finally open,” a pleasant voice drifted over to her. “Mother shall be pleased.”

“Wh-where…”

"Be easy," the woman said quietly, a twinge of disdain along the edges of her words. "You have suffered much, and may not be fully recovered after your ordeal. I do not wish to clean yet another stain of vomit from the floor if it can be helped."

Eilwyn tried sitting up again, slower this time, and vaguely recognized the woman across from her. “Morrigan?”

“Ah. 'Tis a wonder you have so much of your wits about you that you should recognize me immediately upon waking. Your companion was much more difficult to gauge the mental state of." She gave a sigh, not out of pity, but out of seemingly mild annoyance. "He was a blubbering mess as we coaxed him back into consciousness.”

“Alistair’s alright?” Eilwyn asked, leaning forward to reach for Morrigan, but a sharp pain in her sternum stopped her. She cried out, groaning as she crumpled back once more. It felt like her bones were flexing within her, wavy and bending.

“Hush,” Morrigan ordered, laying a hand on Eilwyn’s shoulder. Eilwyn could feel her sitting on the side of the bed next to her. “Your wounds were extensive. Mother healed you as best she could, but you must not make sudden movements for a while yet, lest some of the deeper wounds reopen.”

Eilwyn took a few shallow breaths, then sat up with her hand braced on her sternum for support. It hurt less this time, and less when she did it slowly.

“You saved us?”

“T’was Mother, technically, who did the saving. Not I,” Morrigan answered, but she looked pleased nonetheless. “I merely watched over you as you fought your way back to the land of the living.”

“Are there no others?” Eilwyn whispered, eyes growing wide. "Beyond myself, and Alistair?"

"No. None survived."

"Oh Maker," Eilwyn whispered, a hand coming to cover up her mouth against the onslaught of sadness that washed over her. Duncan. The King. All those men and women that were supposed to be saved once she lit that blighted flame-

“You yourself are not dead,” Morrigan said, one eyebrow quirked, and her hand dropped onto her lap. “I do not see why it should affect you so.”

Eilwyn tried to swallow past the lump of melancholy in her throat, trying to quell the existential fear within her breast. She had been so close to death, but it was true; she was alive, and that was to be appreciated. Without thinking, she reached out and touched her fingertips to the back of Morrigan’s hand. She felt the woman move as if to recoil, but she held herself in check. Eilwyn looked up at her, eyes bright with unshed tears.

“You’re right. Thank you for helping me, Morrigan.”

The woman softened a bit, still looking as if she would rather not be touched, but like she was tolerating it for now. With a glance down at their hands, Morrigan slipped gently away so that she was standing at the end of the bed.

“Do not thank me. As I said, 'twas not I who helped overmuch." She turned, her hands clutching at one another briefly, before she trained Eilwyn with stern eyes once more. "Mother wished to know when you awoke. I must see to it that she's told."

"Where is she?"

"She is outside, with your friend.”

Morrigan moved back over to the fireplace, where Eilwyn could see a pot gently simmering. That was where the tomato smell was coming from, a type of stew or soup. Morrigan took up a ladle and gave it a slow stir.

“I will inform her of your waking. That should leave you some privacy to fully awaken at your leisure.”

“Could you…” Eilwyn grit her teeth. The pain was bearable, but she felt so fragile and so weak. She tried again, holding out her hand to Morrigan. “Could you give me a hand, before you go?”

Morrigan looked taken aback, but it was only a flash of widened eyes that gave her away before she set her expression to neutral. She took Eilwyn’s hand in a grip that was much tighter, firmer than Eilwyn expected, and pulled her off of the bed once Eilwyn set her feet on the cool dirt floor.

It didn’t hurt as much as Eilwyn had expected.

“Your clothes are over in the corner,” Morrigan said as she set Eilwyn gently on her feet. “Dress at your leisure, and come out when you are ready. I still have dinner to prepare, so if you will excuse me.”

Before Eilwyn could say anything else, she was left alone in the hut, the door closing behind Morrigan as she strode off. For a moment, Eilwyn could hear voices from outside, another woman perhaps. But then there was nothing, and she moved to the chest Morrigan had indicated and began to dilligently extract her armor.

It was harrowing, pulling out each broken, stabbed-through, bloodied piece of the armor she'd donned for the battle. Robes, inlaid with mail plating along her spine and joints, covered by buckled gauntlets and vestments made of hardened leather. Each one bearing the scars of her failure. In the end, Eilwyn couldn’t bring herself to put them back onto her body. She was a Grey Warden, but what did that mean now that there was no one left in their ranks?

In the end, she merely pulled on her most basic layers. They consisted only of leggings and a robe meant to keep the heavier mail of her enchanter’s armor from digging into her flesh, and they smelled of clean soap as if they had been laundered upon her arrival. The neckline scooped off of her shoulders, much as her Harrowing robes had done, but it lacked any finery or fur. It was merely cotton. Eilwyn tied her leggings at the waist, trying to ignore the black and blue and green of her wounds healing as she dressed as quickly as possible.

Her hair was another story. It was a mess of tangles, but not as horrible as she’d expected it to be. Like her pain level, she could tolerate this. Eilwyn set to work unbraiding the massive heap of waves, patiently detangling with her fingertips and calmly unlooping snag after snag. Eventually, her hair reached past her hips once more, shimmering pale blonde in the firelight, tangle-free.

It should have been more relaxing than it was, but Eilwyn couldn’t help but notice that the tips of it were stained pink and brown with crusted blood. Was it hers? Or a hurlock’s? Rather than rebraiding it, Eilwyn left it down.

It needed a wash. She could look presentable after she thanked the woman Morrigan said saved her life.

With another steeling breath, one she did not bother to hold, Eilwyn stood up and walked over to the front door of the hut.

The sun was setting, but it was still too bright for her eyes for just a moment. It was strange, to be back in the wilds. She recalled being here with Alistair and the others, scrounging around as she desperately sought out the plant for the ailing mabari while the other men focused on the task at hand. It had not been but a week or so prior, but it felt like a lifetime ago. Eilwyn squinted out into the light and saw no one. She could have sworn she had heard voices as she was donning her shift dress, perhaps Morrigan arguing with her mother or maybe even Alistair, but now there wasn’t anyone to be found.

What to do, then? Wander until she came across someone? No, she hadn't brought her staff outside. She could go get it, though? She could put on her armor and forge ahead, seeking out the people who'd come to her aid if she wanted to.

From her right, Eilwyn heard a thick plunk. Like a frog had jumped into the lake, graceless and heavy. She glanced over in time to see the splash of a second one. It wasn’t frogs, though. It was Alistair, sitting on a log as he tossed little stones into the water one after the other, his movements mechanical and slow.

Elation. It was strange, because she hadn’t known him that long, but Eilwyn felt pure, unadulterated relief and longing and happiness at the sight of his profile. He was faced slightly away from her, only his ear and part of his cheek visible to her, but she recognized the armor and the golden wheat of his hair.

He’d chosen to put the armor back on, she realized. For a moment, she hesitated, wondering if he would feel better if she was in armor as well. If she would impress him if she dressed herself in solidarity with him.

The memory of how he had lain across her to protect her flashed in her mind’s eye, and Eilwyn dropped all pretenses. If he had been willing to sacrifice himself for her safety, as she had been for his, then he could very well handle her in this measly layer of fabric. She jogged over, calling out to him in a voice that wasn’t half as steady as she’d wished.

“Alistair!”

She realized she was crying only when she reached him, when she saw him turn and watched his eyes widen and relief wash over him so obviously that it hurt deeper than the arrows had. Above his left eye was a deep cut, stitched up and bruised but healing from the looks of it. Eilwyn furrowed her brow, wondering why it wasn't bandaged, but the thought fled when she realized that he had most likely gotten it when he'd positioned himself between her and more darkspawn. She stopped herself before him as he stood, years of decorum and etiquette training in the Circle preventing her from launching herself onto the armored man before her.

“Eilwyn. You-”

“Sorry,” she sniffled, swiping at her face, but the tears wouldn’t stop. She smiled at him through them, blinking past the mist of them, and laughed out loud. “One of these days I’ll come up to you without crying, I promise.”

Rather than laugh with her, Alistair merely stared her down. Was he angry she was upset? Was he merely surprised? Eilwyn paused, her stomach dropping, her smile falling away. In that moment of silence, she really took him in.

He looked fatigued, exhausted really. Dark circles shadowed his eyes, normally so bright with teasing laughter but now listless and red-rimmed. His nose and cheeks were pink, his lips held in a tight line, and he looked as if he hadn’t slept in days. As Eilwyn’s eyes traced over his features, he gave a thick sniffle, and she realized she wasn’t alone in being completely overwhelmed with these new emotions.

“You… you’re alive,” he said softly. As if he wasn’t sure how it had come about. He blinked hard, then added, “I thought you were dead for sure.”

Eilwyn laughed despite herself, a snort that was rather dangerous given how freely her tears were flowing.

“It takes more than a few darkspawn to kill me, ser,” she teased, reaching out as if she wanted to pat his armor. At the last second, however, she reconsidered.

Cullen had never liked it when she reached out to touch him. He’d done it to her, leading her to the library with his big palm stretched across the small of her back, or his fingertips at her elbow when he was escorting her back inside from exercises on the roof. She’d melted at the slightest of contact... of course she had, why wouldn’t she? She'd loved him, in her foolish, girlish way.

But Cullen had always stepped backwards when she’d raised her hands to reciprocate. Even when she only wished to graze her fingers across the sword emblazoned on his chestplate, he had always stepped back or away or to the side. He had avoided her hands, and avoided her comfort.

_Because I am a mage, and Templars do not trust mages. Not even if they are friends._

Eilwyn dropped her hand into a loose fist at her side, biting her lip as she did so.

“Are you alright, Alistair?” she asked, because she couldn't think of anything else to say, and it was his turn to scoff.

“Oh perfect! Just thrilled, really."

"I didn't mean it that way."

"It's fine. Let's see, where to start off on the list of things that are completely alright?"

Eilwyn cried harder, seeing him like this. She tried to slow her breathing, to keep her chest from bursting with the grief that threatened to overwhelm her, and Alistair pressed on.

"Well to start, our king was betrayed. On top of that, our forces were absolutely decimated. and as if that wasn't enough, Duncan…” he trailed off, skepticism returning to his eyes, darkening his gaze.

With one hand on his hip, he brought the other to his temple, squeezing the bridge of his nose as he screwed his eyes shut. When his fingers accidentally traced along the edge of the wound on his forehead, she heard him intake a breath sharply, a quick hiss. His expression hardened, his jaw clenched as he shifted his weight from foot to foot, and for a moment Eilwyn marveled at how different he looked to her. Beyond the shadow of his palm, she could see his lower lip quivering, and then his mouth tightened as if he wished to stop even that.

“Alistair,” she whispered, but he did not glance her way.

Whatever he was thinking, or perhaps reliving, it overrode her murmur. Eilwyn swallowed hard. His misery must have been tenfold hers. She had almost been killed, to be sure, but the men and women she’d had the pleasure to meet had been Alistair’s friends. The closest thing he had to a family.

He was left with only her.

White hot guilt stabbed through her, lacing her veins with its poison, and Eilwyn could no longer stand it. She moved forward, painfully aware of their height difference, and slid her arms about Alistair’s waist. She tucked herself into the front of his armor before he could protest, but she saw his eyes snap open as he took a step back in immediate shock. She knew he would pry her away from him in an instant, as soon as his brain registered what she was doing, but she couldn’t help it.

When children at the Circle had cried for their mums, Eilwyn had always been the first to find them and rock them to sleep. When her friends had failed their Harrowing, however rare that had been, she had hugged their loved ones left behind and told them it would be alright. When those friends had returned Tranquil, she had hugged them to her chest despite their lack of response. When she had pined for sunshine in the winter months, her mana dipping and her energy low, she had sought out the older women of the Circle and laid her head across their laps as they braided her hair and told her not to cry. As they told her that spring would come soon.

And so now, overwhelmed by helplessness and empathy, Eilwyn hugged Alistair.

“I remember you tried to protect me,” she said into his chest, the cold metal of his armor plate preventing her from getting her arms comfortable about his waist. "I can't tell you what that means to me."

She tightened her grip ever so slightly, nuzzling against the hardened steel, and she heard his breathing hitch.

“I wish I could have done more,” he whispered. "I'm so sorry."

Rather than pushing her away, his arms came up to tentatively encircle her shoulders. Eilwyn let out a shocked little laugh, one that sounded suspiciously like a sob and came with the fresh threat of more tears, and she felt Alistair dip his head slightly to rest his cheek against the part in her hair.

“You did so much,” she murmured, "you did so much."

He sniffled once more, then again. Eilwyn paused, her words caught at her teeth, and pulled back in surprise.

_He’s… crying._

He looked at her, making eye contact now, unashamed in his feelings even as he closed his eyes and let more tears fall across his cheeks. This man, a Templar in all but his vows, was crying before her. He held no pretenses of not hurting, held no distance from her, and even though his cheeks and ears and the tip of his nose glowed darker in the fading sunlight he did not flinch from her stare. His hands stayed at her shoulders and her back, a warm invitation to continue clinging to him if she wished. He opened his eyes, swallowing so hard Eilwyn could hear it, and gave her a weak smile.

“You say that but... it wasn’t enough,” he said softly.

His eyes searched hers, looking for confirmation or denial, looking for something, anything. Eilwyn had the distinct sensation of vertigo as she held on to him, as Alistair kept her standing with his hands at her spine. She shook her head.

“It wasn’t. And… that’s devastating,” she said carefully, her eyes fleeing his so that she could say what she next needed to. “But even knowing how much we lost, even knowing how much _you_ lost, I'm sorry. I can’t help it.”

She flicked her gaze back up, just in time to see his eyebrow quirk lightly in bemusement.

“I’m still so happy to see you,” Eilwyn finished, tears coming again, harder this time, sobs that wracked her body as she fell against his chest. She wasn’t sure anymore if she was crying from loss, or relief, or happiness, or a combination of them swirled amid grief for a lost cause she didn’t want to have to face alone.

But Alistair never asked. He pulled her backwards with him, sinking with her to the log he’d been seated on, and he rocked her as she cried the poison free from her heart. His hands smoothed her hair back from her neck, the leather of his gloves cool and soothing against her nape. He cradled her to his chest much as she had cradled incomers to the Circle as they mourned the loss of their former lives. He seemed to cry with her for a moment, though much quieter than she, and found his composure before she did. Still, he did not rush her to calm. He did not shush her, and Eilwyn eventually quieted on her own.

It must have been quick, but it felt like hours had passed before she was done with her tears. The fact that the sun had set around her and plunged their world into indigo hues did nothing to stave off the illusion of time having gotten away from them. Eilwyn straightened her back, letting one hand fall from Alistair’s chest so that she could swipe at her cheeks.

“Feel better?” he asked her, and she gave a rueful laugh.

“Feel tired, more like.”

“Me too.” His hands fell from her as well, pausing only at her shoulders to give them a quick squeeze, much as he had done when she had panicked at Ostagar. “How’s the breathing?”

“F-fine,” she answered, stuttering past an embarrassed chuckle at the reference. "You'd think I would be panicked, but I feel much calmer."

"You cried it all out, is why. You've got no panic reserves left."

"You might be right about that," she said blithely.

Alistair seemed to smile at her in the dark, and she could see the glint of drying tears on his cheeks as well. He'd cried out so much too. His loss must have been immeasurable, what with how close he and Duncan had been. Without even thinking, she reached out and smoothed away the tracks of Alistair's tears with her thumbs.

"Thank you," she whispered, keeping his eyes with her own unwavering gaze of gratitude until he closed them briefly.

The shift was immediate. It had felt good and right and comforting to embrace him, but this was… different. Assertive. Something heavier than a tearful hug, even though she was barely grazing the edge of his eyelashes as she wiped away his tears. He opened his eyes, blinking at her, trusting and kind and so much younger than his height or his bulk made him seem. The skin of his cheek was smooth to the touch, and warm. Her hands strayed down to his jaw where stubble lay scratchy and golden, until she was cupping his face in her palms, and Eilwyn could feel him grit his teeth against the soft touch. She couldn’t meet his eyes anymore, had to look down at something else.

His mouth, lips parted. His jaw relaxed beneath her fingers, a small sigh at the edge of his mouth.

_Maker no, that’s worse!_

"For what?" his lips moved, and she must have heard him speak but it was so soft. So delicate.

Her heart beat out a frantic, immediate warning thump, her fingertips shaky as she traced them down his neck before letting them fall away.

"F-for everything," she finished lamely.

Eilwyn didn’t know what to make of the sudden rush of desire that flooded her core. Was this what grief carried along with it in its wake? Was this normal? Or was she a sinner, as she had always suspected, as she had always confessed to being when Cullen’s fingers at her elbow made her feel the same way?

At a loss, her gaze flitted back to Alistair’s in the dark. Her lips parted in astonishment when she recognized the distraught and excited expression that was plastered onto his face. It was the one she wore on hers. A mirror of conflicted responses that they both apparently felt. He was leaning forward, his hands on his knees, leaning into where her touch had been.

For some reason it was foreign to her, looking at Alistair responding to her touch like this. Even though she had had electrified moments with Cullen back in the Circle, they hadn't felt like this. It took Eilwyn a moment to pinpoint what exactly was not the same about the two. When she realized it, she felt another heavy heartbeat in the center of her chest, as if the thought were a physical push to her sternum.

_There isn’t regret written anywhere in Alistair’s eyes._

Eilwyn folded her hands in her own lap with a laugh, and Alistair cleared his throat at the same time. Both of them resigned to breaking away from the other- and breaking whatever spell had overcome them for the briefest of seconds.

"That's what I'm here for," he said. "Helping with everything, I guess."

“How’s the breathing?” she asked him, teasing lightly, and she nudged his knee with hers as if to illustrate that she wasn’t serious. Alistair gave an eager chuckle.

“I forgot how to do it for a second there, it seems,” he replied, his voice louder now, his own signal that he was joking as well. When he was serious he didn’t adopt that jovial note, that self-depricating grin. “Wouldn’t put it past me to do it again soon.”

He stood, stretching with an over-exaggerated grunt of effort as he twisted his torso from side to side. Eilwyn watched him, still seated on the log, feeling painfully like a mage once more in her shift of a dress and tattered leggings.

But then Alistair turned and extended his hand to her. In the dark, she looked down at it, expecting something to be in its palm, and it took her a full beat to realize he was asking to hold hers. Clenching her jaw to convince herself she was resolute in this, Eilwyn took his hand and allowed Alistair to pull her to her feet.

“The way I see it,” Alistair said, dropping her fingers almost reluctantly as he began to walk along the lake back to the hut, “we can stay here, but not much longer. At least have some dinner and a short bit of rest. Just until you’re fully recovered.”

“How do you know I’m not?”

“I could feel you swaying back there, as you cried,” Alistair confessed, as if the intimacy of such an act made him incredibly uneasy. His voice was low and sounded guilty. “It’s why I sat you down.”

“Oh.”

Eilwyn did not mention that it was most likely not from the leftover pain in her body. If she had swayed, it was to lean further into Alistair's hand at the small of her back, or to nuzzle closer to the armor that separated them from one another. She blushed in the dark silently to herself, thankful he was so oblivious. However, she was also positive that he'd be able to feel the burning heat of shame emanating from her skin even from where he walked at her side.

“You survived more than I thought possible,” he said quietly, that serious tone creeping back into his voice as he did so. “And I aim to have a word with the woman who saved you and me both.”

“Morrigan’s mother?”

“That’s the one,” he said. “She refused to speak to me until you awoke. Something about me being a ‘blubbering, incomprehensible idiot unable to contain my grief’ or whatever.” He turned to the side and muttered to himself, “Heartless witch.”

Eilwyn reached out and put a hand on his elbow, in solidarity and understanding. She let it drop before she was even sure he registered the touch. Alistair gave a great sigh, and continued in a lighter tone.

“When Morrigan came out to announce you had awakened, her mother seemed to forget she had errands to run. They both walked off, chatting as they went, but I assume they’ll have made their way back in time for dinner by now.”

“Mmm.” Eilwyn frowned. “Errands you said?”

“Oh yes. Witchy errands,” Alistair teased, leaning far down to nudge her shoulder with his own. “You know, like collecting skulls and waving broomsticks and eating naughty children."

"She did not!"

"I swear it! Have you been a good girl, Eilwyn? If not she might've healed you only to secure her next meal."

Eilwyn blushed fiercely, trying her best to ignore the slide of immediate pleasure at the apex of her thighs in response to Alistair's teasing.

_I feel like I've been bad, actually._

"She does not eat naughty children," she muttered, her words coming out a bit higher pitched than she'd meant for them to.

"How old are you?" Alistair wondered aloud. He paused, then, and turned to her with a tilt of his head. "I don't know if I ever asked you."

"I'll be turning nineteen this year," Eilwyn said.

"Oh. Good. Me too," he replied with a grin. "I mean, I'm already nineteen, I'll be turning twenty this year."

"Do I look older?" Eilwyn muttered. "Is that why you asked?"

"What? No! No, younger, actually. It's the shortness that does it. And your voice being kind of," he made a little whine, one that Eilwyn snorted despite the fact that it was aimed to make fun of her. Alistair regarded her warmly, and she wondered if he was relieved she wasn't crying for once. Then, as if he'd lost his train of thought and barely managed to regain it, Alistair added, "You still kind of count as a child though, seeing as you're youngest. So I'd mind your p's and q's if I were you."

"I think I'm safe for now," she said with a smirk. "I have a feeling you're somehow more childish than the both of us."

"Oh har, har! I'm going to tell the witch on you."

"No, please, save me," Eilwyn feigned helplessness, even reaching out to grab Alistair's forearm as she leaned backwards in a tiny mock faint. He held her hand at her wrist, looking prepared to pull her back up should she need it. "I don't want to be eaten!"

"You might have some time left to atone, you know! Morrigan's mother said to me, in a great flurry of robes and sparkly dust and fanfare, that she had to eat all the naughty children by midnight. If she didn't, then the powers that govern her dark nature would give her a right stern finger-wagging. So if you're polite through dinner, you should be good to live another day,” he finished, breaking into a lopsided grin and already chuckling at his own ribbing.

Eilwyn laughed. Even though it wasn't that funny, she gave herself over to the happiness. It was easy, in a way. She let it well up right next to the despair in her heart, shoving aside some self-doubt to make room for it. And honestly, despite it all, Eilwyn was growing very fond of the way Alistair’s eyes narrowed when he knew he was saying something ridiculous. He seemed to soften at the sound of her giggles, and as they approached the hut in the dark of the night, Eilwyn felt the length of his palm graze the small of her back.

It felt less like a touch of forceful guidance, however, and more like one of gratitude. She leaned into it without giving it a second thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not harden Alistair (I'm sorry!!!!!) because I love the comparison of Alistair's "Squishy Chantry Boy Happy In His Feelings", juxtaposed against Cullen's "Rigid Rule-abiding I Can Suppress This" personality throughout Origins. Especially when it comes to the way the two of them look at Eilwyn.


	3. Affectionate Idiots

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These two are so young and doofy that it almost breaks my heart to bring them together like this.  
> (but not enough to keep me from bringing them together like this)

The first night the nightmares came, Alistair almost seemed to expect it. He was awake when Eilwyn snapped out of the dark cavern she’d found herself lost in, and the echoes of the decaying dragon’s screams faded from her ears in place of the crackling fire. She sat up with a start, barely withholding a scream, and looked around frantically as she clutched the grass and the ground beneath her.

When she registered Alistair at the fire, her breathing slowed. She visibly relaxed, and let go of the grass she'd clutched beside her bedroll.

“Bad dreams, huh?” he asked, and he glanced her way with a sympathetic air about him.

Eilwyn shivered, then nodded. She’d taken to sleeping under the stars again whenever they made camp, loving the way the navy black stretched onwards forever. Tonight, it brought her no comfort, and the summer breeze seemed to have a bite to it that reflected the chill of the nightmare she’d lived through. A threat of autumn nipped at her clavicle, and she shifted to pull her tunic lacings tighter together.

“Y-yeah,” Eilwyn sat up, clutching her bedroll tighter around herself. “How did you know?”

“They’re a bit of a side-effect from becoming a Warden. I had them too.”

“What… are they?”

“The darkspawn I’m sure you recognize,” he said lightly, and Eilwyn tucked a strand of hair behind her ears to better hear him. He was speaking low, Leliana and Sten’s tents too closeby to raise his voice more. He snapped a little branch in his fingers then threw it into the fire, and Eilwyn seized the opportunity to move closer. "The archdemon. It 'talks' to the horde, and we feel it just as they do. That's why we know this is really a Blight."

"It felt so real."

"It always does."

Draping her blankets and furs about her shoulders like layers of capes, she knelt on the cold ground and shuffled over to Alistair’s side. He chuckled and shifted to the side, offering her a meager half of his own bedroll, even though it was still folded up. More like a cushion to sit on than a bed to stretch out in.

“You look like a caterpillar.” He reached out and pinched her cheek lightly.

"I am a very powerful mage, ser."

“Yes, but you _look_ like a caterpillar. All chubby and cute without any arms or legs."

Eilwyn puffed up her cheeks to get him to lose his hold on her skin, feigning frustration all the while. Alistair merely laughed and tried to pinch her chin instead.

"You're so fearsome in this form, my good lady! Want me to ask Morrigan if she can shapeshift you into a silkworm before our next ambush?”

Eilwyn mimed biting at his fingers, but when he suppressed a laugh she was grateful for his goofy distractions.

“Like you would talk to Morrigan for any reason other than to annoy her,” Eilwyn shot.

She leaned her shoulder onto Alistair’s, both of them facing the fire.

“I've been meaning to ask, just while we're on the subject," Alistair said softly. "Do you actually like her? Morrigan I mean.”

“Yeah,” Eilwyn smiled. "I do."

“Why?”

Alistair sounded aghast, and Eilwyn couldn’t tell if he was joking or not, so she leaned her head onto his shoulder and mulled it over for a moment. She watched the flames licking low among the thick logs of fragrant yew, and tried to pinpoint a reason why she shouldn’t like the witch of the Wilds.

“I firmly believe,” Eilwyn said softly, keeping her cheek against Alistair’s shoulder as she spoke, “that people aren’t inherently good or bad. People are just trying to be themselves, in the only ways they know how. I think that Morrigan is a bit bristly, but it makes sense. She only had socialization opportunities from her mother, after all.”

“You can’t blame upbringing for lack of empathy,” Alistair replied. “Look at me. Raised by stinky dogs, and yet I bathe twice a month. Because I care _that much_ about my friends and their noses.”

Eilwyn gave a little snicker, and held back her immediate response.

_I like the way you smell._

She cleared her throat, closing her eyes against the shy flush of color that threatened to rise in her cheeks. She figured in the nighttime, lit only by the glow of the fire, her skin wouldn’t reveal just how deeply Alistair made her blush.

“I don’t really blame anything for how she is. She just… _is_ ,” Eilwyn continued. “And I merely think that underneath of her survival instincts-”

“You mean her abject cruelty and selfishness, go on.”

“- _suvrival instincts,_ ” she said firmly, pulling away a bit and shooting Alistair a mock glare. He rolled his eyes at her, playing along in silence. “I think that she’s got her own brand of kindness about her. She might need a friend, even if she doesn’t _need_ anyone. If that makes sense,” Eilwyn finished.

“Hmm.”

Alistair shifted at her side, moving so that his hands were supporting him on the ground behind his hips. It opened up his torso, his right hand just behind where Eilwyn had sat down, and Eilwyn felt herself sliding. She came to rest against his chest, her arms too tangled in her cloak of furs to right herself immediately. Alistair, however, seemed mercifully unaware of how his proximity affected her, and merely shrugged at her commentary.

“Alright. So Morrigan’s got a heart according to you."

"She does."

"You truly believe that."

Eilwyn said nothing, and Alistair sighed so deeply that his chest moved her head up and down.

"Fine. I promise I won’t goad her, then. Much,” he said wryly.

“Do whatever you want,” Eilwyn murmured, a smile at the edge of her lips. “Just because I like her doesn’t mean you have to.”

“Doesn’t it?”

“You don’t take orders from me,” she insisted. "You can like or not like whoever you wish."

“You have to admit, you have a pretty decent judgement of character thing going for you,” Alistair said. “After all, so far you've recruited entirely reliable friends. Such as a Qunari murderer, a Chantry zealot, a Witch of the Wilds, and a smelly furball. All are very sound companion choices you’ve made thus far.”

“Oh come on,” Eilwyn smirked. “You’re not that smelly.”

Alistair laughed, a bit too loud as if he were surprised into it, and Eilwyn heard someone shift in their tent. She leaned hard onto Alistair, butting against his ribs with her shoulder.

“Shh,” she ordered, grinning madly even as she hushed him. “You’re going to wake the camp with all your barking.”

Alistair, to his credit, merely raised an eyebrow at her and pursed his lips. She turned back to the fire before she could focus too long on how much she liked the twist of his smile.

“How is our noble McWhistle, by the way?”

“He’s still a mabari, and has been busy doing mabari things. For instance, he found some disgusting pantaloons today.”

“Excellent. Did you gift them to Morrigan?”

“I was thinking of gifting them to you!”

“Don’t do that,” Alistair snickered. “I might actually wear them.”

Eilwyn smiled into the embers, tugging her furs closer about her shoulders.

“Are you tired?” she asked blearily.

“Not particularly,” Alistair said. “I’ve got a few hours left on watch before I wake Sten to take over. Although I am not certain that he even sleeps. Part of me thinks he just… _waits_.”

“Don’t be creepy,” Eilwyn whispered with a smile.

“Why do you ask?” Alistair wondered aloud. “Are you tired, perhaps? Projecting your sleepiness onto someone else in hopes that you can stay awake?”

“I am a little fatigued,” Eilwyn admitted. She opened her mouth to speak again, then couldn’t. A yawn came unbidden to her, one that she couldn’t even cover with her hands out of politeness. She tilted her head down, preferring to yawn into her furs than risk showing Alistair her tonsils. After swallowing hard once, then twice, she tried again in as energetic a tone she could muster. “I don’t particularly want to sleep after a dream like that, though.”

“It was just a dream,” Alistair said, but she could tell that even he didn’t think that was a comfort by the way he sighed afterwards. “I know what you mean, though. It was scary at first for me, too.”

“And now?” Eilwyn asked, turning to look at him in the firelight. “Is it still scary for you, when you have those nightmares?”

He glanced down at her, then turned back to the flames.

“Yes. But you get used to having to face that fear, and you remember that you can survive it if you need to,” he said softly. "You are a Grey Warden, after all."

Eilwyn watched as his jaw clenched, and then he turned back to her with a soft expression of friendliness about his face.

“I’ll be up a while yet," he whispered. "You can sleep soundly knowing that I’ll wake you if you start thrashing again, and cut the nightmare short. Deal?”

“Deal,” Eilwyn agreed, settling against his chest once more and heaving a deep sigh as she closed her eyes.

Alistair cleared his throat, as if he suddenly realized what she intended to do.

“Oh. You want to… I see, um,” he stammered, adjusting to account for her weight.

Eilwyn pulled back immediately, less sleepy now that she’d misread the situation.

“Maker, you meant in my _own_ bedroll-”

“It’s okay, I just didn’t expect-”

“I’m so sorry! Let me just-”

“I don’t mind if you don’t mind, I mean-”

“Just,” Eilwyn stood up, tottering a bit with how quickly she straightened, her furs still caught haphazardly about her shoulders. “Just pretend like that didn’t happen. Please.”

As she flopped back down into a heap of embarrassed fluff onto her bedroll, she thought she heard Alistair mumble something to himself before he snapped another twig and threw it into the fire. She couldn’t be sure, but it sounded very much like, “ _Alistair you big idiot_.”

* * *

The next time they made camp for more than a night, it was long overdue. They had been on a long journey of trudging their way from Lothering to Redcliffe, one whose distance shouldn't have posed much a problem, ideally. They hadn’t made it very far, however, on account of two ambushes, one scavenger hunt for recipes throughout the fallen caravans they came across, and finally a very inviting waterfall.

The latter was gorgeous, and a welcome distraction. The stream it fell into connected to two pools that seemed to have been carved by some wandering elves that had passed by and just missed the Warden’s ensemble. It was small and humble, but secluded and located high enough that any attacks on the camp could be well-anticipated with just a one-person watch. It made for a most fortuitous boon, especially after days of being attacked for no reason.

It was as if summer was giving forth its last gasp before autumn took over, the day unnaturally hot and bright. When they came upon the twin pools of crystal clear, deep, clean water that was uncontaminated by darkspawn or downstream from a village… it was so perfect for swimming in. The carved holes were very deep, with rocks placed at the bottom to keep sediment from entering into them. Leliana said something about Dalish elves and how they moved from place to place through the forests, but Eilwyn could hardly hear over how quickly she was setting up camp further into the copse of trees by the falls.

The sooner she got camp settled, the sooner she could go swim.

With the tents erected, the firewood gathered, and the supplies well-guarded, they could finally relax. One by one, Eilwyn, Leliana, and Alistair stripped down to their smalls and dove in, paddling about with McWhistle and venturing into the moderate current of the stream beyond them. The sun had warmed the standing water in the pools to a much more palatable temperature than the stream itself, but such a brisk swim was so welcome after a day of hiking in the unbearable heat.

For a while, they played a game where one person kept their eyes shut and had to find the others by merely shouting back and forth as they paddled around. When she grew tired of that, Eilwyn sat herself in a little cave behind the waterfall, marveling at how unlike the Circle this all was. She flexed her mana, casting little magelights about her person as she stared beyond the curtain of crashing water. The magelights bounced about her like drunken bumblebees, fat and lazy and glowing dully. Eilwyn tried to remember the last time she’d felt so enraptured and so at ease.

_Maybe it was in a book where I read about this sort of feeling, or maybe I felt it when they let me practice with lightning for the first time._

_Or maybe I’ve never experienced, and I just never realized what I was missing until now._

Eilwyn decided to leave the water when there was still sunlight to dry off in. She called to Sten to let him know she was headed in. He was dutifully washing further downstream by himself, away from where Leliana and Alistair had taken to throwing sticks into the pools for McWhistle to try to catch in his mouth. The Qunari acknowledged with a bow of his head that he had heard her, but did not reply beyond that.

Standing with her feet in the shallows, Eilwyn began the laborious process of wringing out her hair, bit by bit until it wasn’t hanging as heavily about her person. Wet like this, it hung to her thighs. As Leliana pushed Alistair gently into the water after the mabari, Eilwyn went back to the camp to sit with Morrigan in a moment of peace. When the sorceress was nowhere to be found, Eilwyn changed into dry smallclothes inside of Leliana’s tent, then set out her armor to air in the sunlight for a few hours.

As night fell around her shoulders like an indigo cloak, Eilwyn found herself braiding her hair by the fire as Alistair cleaned his weapons by his tent. They didn’t speak, but they didn’t really need to. It was a moment of peace in an otherwise long journey to Redcliffe. She was too preoccupied with how good her clean tresses smelled after a nice, long shampoo to even notice an argument flare up behind her.

“I don’t believe that,” Leliana said, her voice rising in pitch even as she seemed to be trying to keep a kind tone. “I believe we have a purpose. All of us.”

She and Morrigan were approaching the camp, both power-walking over as if they meant to reach the campfire before the other.

“Yours, apparently, being to bother me,” Morrigan spat.

“It’s a bother to try to discern whether or not you believe in the Maker?”

“It does not strike you as rude to so clandestinely paw at another’s system of belief to see if it aligns with your own?”

“You can’t answer a question with a question,” Alistair piped up from where he was sitting by McWhistle, wiping his longsword clean while the mabari gnawed on a lamb bone. Both women turned simultaneously, only in agreement when ordering him to stand down.

“Stay out of this, fool-”

“Alistair, please don’t-”

His eyes widened, and McWhistle grabbed up his bone to totter off to sit by his master. Alistair seemed to think it was the right idea, and as the women continued to dig at one another, he brought his oil and sword over by Eilwyn. He sat on the other log they’d dragged over for makeshift chairs, with his back to Morrigan and Leliana. Eilwyn raised her brows in question, but he just gave her a shake of his head and went to oiling his sword in his lap once more.

Eilwyn shot the women a glance, but did not intervene. To her, it seemed like was merely a debate and not something she needed to entertain diffusing. Even though it hurt her heart to see the two women she liked bickering with one another, they usually worked out a quiet stalemate once they could retreat to their own corners of camp. Most likely they would be on tentative speaking terms again come the morrow.

Morrigan made her way over to where Eilwyn was sitting and, with a glare of contempt towards Alistair, let a little scrap of paper drift down to Eilwyn’s lap.

“I merely came to give you a new herbal remedy,” she said simply. “I found this near one of the overturned carts along the path.”

Eilwyn let one hand fall from her braid and took the recipe, nodding her thanks.

“Now if you will all excuse me,” Morrigan said loudly, “I am going to bed, and I will be setting wards to ensure I rest peacefully. The next person who tries to engage me in idle chatter will be lucky to make it past them with their tongue intact.”

Everyone was stunned into silence, at least for a heartbeat as Morrigan sauntered off.

“She’ll do it, too,” Alistair muttered.

Eilwyn smirked, then turned back to the fire as she set the recipe down. Leliana paced for a bit, then took a few calming breaths and went to sit across the way and pick at her lute halfheartedly. Eilwyn kept lacing her hair through and through, methodical and gentle, until the enormous bulk of it was in a neat, thick rope all the way down her spine.

It consisted of smaller plaits pulled back and away from her face, so that if the larger one fell out she could easily swoop her waves free from her vision. With a sigh, she stretched out her arms in front of her until her shoulder popped satisfyingly.

“You know,” Alistair said, the tone of his voice already light and playful as he drew out the syllables for longer than necessary.

“What do I know?” Eilwyn indulged, turning to him with a raised eyebrow.

“Your hair is very long.”

“It is, isn’t it? So observant of you, ser,” she answered cheekily, smiling proudly.

“You don’t think it’s too long?”

Eilwyn frowned.

“Not like it’s bad that it's long! But that seems like a pain to have to do every time you bathe,” he said, gesturing with the oil rag to her hair.

“It is, but I’ve gotten used to it,” she said, even though the soreness in her forearms said otherwise.

“You could cut it short,” Leliana said.

Eilwyn and Alistair both perked up, Eilwyn in horror and Alistair in some kind of amused silence.

“It was the height of Orlesian fashion, to have an asymmetrical bob, just last year,” Leliana continued. “Many women took the shears to their curls themselves. I remember one girl, how unfortunate she was, who cut her hair while it was wet and did not factor in its drying length.” Leliana giggled darkly. “Her hair curled so fiercely that it resembled a poofy brown mushroom atop her head.”

“See,” Alistair said, turning to Eilwyn with a smirk. “So very appealing. Why don’t you cut it short and wear a poofy blonde mushroom atop your head?”

“While I appreciate your concern, the both of you,” Eilwyn gave each of her two friends a look of polite refusal as she reached down to scratch McWhistle’s scruff. “I like my hair long. There will be no shearing of any kind.”

“Why not?” Leliana asked, plucking out a sweet melody as she spoke.

Eilwyn shrugged.

“I haven’t cut my hair since I was brought to the Circle."

"You're joking. It's been years?" Leliana inquired softly.

Another shrug.

"Yes. My mother was the last one to cut my hair before my magic manifested, and I let no-one touch it since,” she said, feeling her words like a current ready to sweep her away if she kept rambling. She pressed her lips together and glanced at the former bard across from her. “Sounds silly I guess.”

“It doesn’t,” Leliana insisted. Her hands stilled at the lute strings, her face adopting that fierce warmth that both reassured and frightened Eilwyn at times. “I respect that something we might see as trivial is not in your eyes. It gives you depth.”

Eilwyn furrowed her brow at the seemingly backhanded compliment, and McWhistle looked up from his lamb bone. She realized she was digging her fingernails into his scruff a bit more roughly than intended, the tension from the conversation having transferred to her pets.

“Sorry,” Eilwyn muttered to the pup. “Were my scritches too hard, love?”

The mabari gave a low gurgle of a whine, or maybe it was a belch. Eilwyn scoffed and patted its huge, square head until it flopped against her knee in blissful relaxation.

“I think your hair is beautiful as it is,” Alistair said, holding his sword up to the firelight and examining its edges. “Mmm. Already nicked. I just got this one too. How do I always manage to nick my blade first thing?”

"Could be that you insist on practicing against trees in your free time?" Leliana asked.

“You…” Eilwyn paused, straightening her shoulders to try to catch Alistair's attention again. “You think it’s beautiful?”

“Definitely,” Alistair replied, glancing at her as if she were simple. “You take very good care of it, you’re proud of it, and it shows.”

“Then why did you bring up the topic of cutting it, I wonder?” Leliana murmured from across the fire.

“First of all, that wasn’t me, that was you. You sneaky instigator, trying to start another fight,” Alistair said. Leliana narrowed her eyes, teasing... or plotting. It was unclear which she was ever doing. Alistair scoffed. “And second of all, my comment was just to suggest that if you should ever need help with it,” he turned back to Eilwyn, “I could offer my humble services.”

Eilwyn felt her eyebrow twitch, and Alistair nodded in sincerity.

“No joke! I know how to braid. I can make it quicker for you, if you like. Just let me know when you need an extra set of hands.”

Eilwyn could only stare at him, her fingers frozen at the leather tie she used to secure the largest plait in place. The noise of a lute being resumed inconspicuously across from them finally roused her from her stunned stupor.

“Ah, yes,” she said quietly. “I’d actually really appreciate that.”

The warrior at her side seemed content with that, and completely unaware of the fact that his suggestion had affected her so. The idea of Alistair’s hands pulling gently at her scalp, of his fingertips grazing the nape of her neck, of kneeling between his knees with her hair over his thigh-

_Maker take me, why is such a simple thing so damned exciting?_

“What, um,” she shook her head, pulling her hand up from McWhistle’s velvety forehead. “How did you learn to even braid, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“The dogs taught me, of course,” Alistair said, adopting the overly singsong, growly tone he used when he wanted McWhistle to come get pets from him. The mabari immediately perked up and shifted over so that he could lay half-sprawled on Eilwyn’s boots to get to Alistair’s outstretched hand.

“Lazy bum,” Eilwyn said, nudging the muscly pup with her foot halfheartedly. McWhistle merely panted in response, his doggy face smiling and tongue already hanging out of the side of his mouth while Alistair scratched him hard behind the ears.

“I will have you know I was a very dutiful student,” Alistair rebounded.

“A student raised by dogs who braid and sell you to the Chantry.”

“Yes. Very devout, very communicative dogs from the Anderfels. With braided fur that put the other wild families to shame.”

Eilwyn laughed, and Alistair seemed to soften a bit.

"I learned back when I lived with Arl Eamon. I was friends with the serving boys and girls, and in order to stay on good terms with the girls, I learned to braid."

"That's kind of charming, Alistair," Leliana said.

"First time someone's ever said that to me," Alistair said with a laugh.

As if bored with the conversational turn, McWhistle gave up all pretenses of sitting near Eilwyn anymore. With a playful bark, he stood up on all fours and moved from under her fingertips over to Alistair's knee. Alistair barely had enough time to set his sword onto the ground at his side before McWhistle clambered up into his lap. With a huff, he settled onto Alistair’s thighs as if he were merely a kitten and not a twelve-stone wardog. The warrior accommodated him, cradling the pup in his arms as the mabari’s stump of a tail wagged pointlessly.

“You know, when you do this, I forget how good you are at being a vicious bodyguard,” Alistair grunted.

Eilwyn smiled.

_Could say the same about you._

McWhistle gave a hearty bark in respose, nuzzling up at Alistair’s face to lick it.

“Don’t let him do that,” Leliana begged from across the way.

“Why not?” Alistair asked. “It’s just kisses!”

“You’re training him to ‘kiss’ the rest of us when he’s happy! I don’t like the smell of mabari drool, thank you.”

“Oh you Orlesians.”

“I’m not-”

“Some stew missed my mouth from dinner. He’s just helping me out,” Alistair reposted, almost too slow to avoid actually kissing the large tongue that came flicking out as McWhistle struggled to keep his affection in check. He sputtered at the near miss, laughing the entire time. Eilwyn lifted a hand to her mouth as she smiled, trying not to find this as adorable as she did.

“Come on now, enough kisses for one day,” Eilwyn said firmly to the mabari. “After all. You’re a wardog, aren’t you?”

McWhistle turned to Eilwyn, head tilted and tongue lolling, as if to say _so what if I am?_

“So try to have some self control. Show a little dignity. You can’t go around licking people whenever you like them.”

“Oh I beg to differ,” Alistair said. “I find that licking people you’re fond of definitely ingratiates them to you. For sure.”

“And who have you licked recently?” Eilwyn shot back, to which Alistair just gave her a crooked smile.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

With that, he shuffled the dog in his lap so that he was wrestling it to the ground. McWhistle responded happily, gumming the air harmlessly beside Alistair’s head as his tail wagged so furiously that his entire rump wriggled and shook.

Across the fire, Leliana sighed.

“Eilwyn,” she called. “You have first watch, yes?”

“I do.”

“Do you want me to stay awake with you?”

“I think I’ll be alright,” Eilwyn said, purposefully glancing to where Alistair was play-fighting with the mabari in the dirt.

Leliana gave a fond roll of her eyes and then retreated back into her tent, taking her lute with her.

“Goodnight, then,” she called over her shoulder as the tent flap closed, and Eilwyn gave her a little wave back.

After a moment, McWhistle seemed to remember Eilwyn existed. He was suddenly done playing, and he broke free of Alistair’s hug in order to trot back to his master with a contented look of victory on his face.

“Did you win? You are so easily distracted, aren't you?” Eilwyn asked, reaching down with both hands to cup the happy pooch’s face. McWhistle grinned, showing off his formidable fangs in a contented smile as he nuzzled further into Eilwyn’s palms. “Good job, showing that mean old Alistair who’s boss.”

“That dog,” Alistair said from where he lay on the ground panting, “is very strong.”

“He was taking it easy on you,” Eilwyn said merrily, giving McWhistle a congratulatory scratch beneath his collar. McWhistle settled on the ground with a yawn and began to gnaw once more at his lamb bone, although his movements were slower than before. Maybe Alistair had tired him out a bit after all.

“Did they allow pets in your Circle?” Alistair asked as he caught his breath.

“Eh.” Eilwyn shrugged. “A few birds, and one Templar had a couple of antisocial cats for catching mice. But no mabari.”

“So no pets.”

“No,” Eilwyn laughed. “No _real_ pets.”

“That’s sad,” Alistair said, moving to reclaim his seat by the fire. “You do so well with him.”

“Only because he imprinted on me.”

“No,” he muttered, but then stopped himself. “Well yes, but he imprinted on you with good reason at least. You cared enough to try and save him when your mind was occupied with other things.”

“I wasn’t that occupied.”

“Ah,” Alistair trained her with that narrowed smirk of his. “Playing off like we weren’t nervous for the Joining, are we? I see, I see.”

“No, I just,” she shrugged, trying not to smile. “Maybe I was looking for something to do that wasn’t focused on myself. What I was about to do.”

“I think you hide your bleeding heart rather well under all that hair of yours,” Alistair said, not unkindly. Still, she had to roll her eyes at the graceless phrasing.

“I’ve always liked dogs,” Eilwyn said, perhaps mostly to herself. She didn’t expect Alistair to continue to speak to her, but was delighted when he did.

“How would you know if you did or not? I thought you said there were no pets in the Circle?”

“There weren’t. But when I was a little girl, before my magic manifested, my family had three mabari of our own.”

“Oh.” Alistair paused, his fingers interlaced between his knees, elbows resting so that he was hunched over staring at the fire. “What were their names?”

“I… don’t remember,” Eilwyn whispered. “It was so long ago. I think one of them was called Twister? Twizzle? … maybe Trickster?” She shook her head. “I was really little when I was taken to live at Lake Calenhad. A lot of my childhood is fuzzy.”

“But you remember that you loved them,” Alistair said lightly. “That’s rather telling, isnt’ it?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Eilwyn insisted. “Mabari are easy to love.”

“Are they now?”

“Yes. They’re loyal, and kind, and they’re oh so snuggly. Even though they can rip you apart with just a few well-placed bites, they choose not to. They give you sloppy kisses instead.” She turned to Alistair, suffused with happiness. “Like you!”

“What? Me!”

He sat up as if he were feigning offense, and Eilwyn laughed.

“Yes, most definitely,” Eilwyn claimed, and McWhistle echoed her noise of satisfaction.

“If this is another crack about how I smell, I swear I’ll go jump back under the waterfall right now-”

“No! No,” Eilwyn giggled. “Sorry.”

“Then what?”

“I’ve seen what you can do to ogres, Alistair. It’s incredible how strong you are.” She tilted her head, giving him a small, helpless smile. “But somehow I know you’d never hurt me.”

He stared at her, and in the crackling firelight, Eilwyn saw Alistair’s expression shift. He seemed to want to smile at that, but stopped himself halfway. It was a delirious, bemused expression, one Eilwyn was happy she’d caused. It elicited a thrum of excitement in her belly, the sensation of being daring and desirable. Alistair’s eyes darkened, and Eilwyn wondered if he could read her expression as easily as she felt she could his.

_He has to know how handsome he is._

“So you see me as a second mabari, then?” Alistair asked with a wicked grin, snapping Eilwyn back to reality. “Have I imprinted onto you as well, I wonder?”

Her jaw dropped open and she lifted a hand to wave the comparison away.

“No, I-”

“I don’t know if I’m as good at fetching as our beloved McWhistle, there,” Alistair continued roguishly, “but I promise I’ll try to find better gifts for you than dirty pantaloons. Maybe a few sticks to start off with, to prove my doggy mettle.”

Eilwyn’s mouth snapped shut and she turned to the fire, covering her face in embarrassment. She let out a low groan, wishing she could just go back a few seconds, maybe try this conversation again, choose a different way to convey to Alistair that she was growing intensely fond of him rather quickly-

“Relax. It’s a sweet sentiment, Eilwyn, really,” Alistair said, reaching over to put a hand on her wrist and draw it down from her face. “Although if you try to put a collar on me, I am going to have to draw a line.”

“Ha,” Eilwyn burst, dropping her hands to her lap once more. “I don’t know what’s a richer image: you in a dress dancing the Remigold, or you in a collar taking orders from me…”

She trailed off before the last syllable could be uttered, but it was already too late. She’d said it out loud, and it seemed that Alistair had realized the implication immediately for once. She stared at the logs on the outer edge of the fire, absolutely aghast at her wanton behavior.

_You are a lady! For the sake of Andraste’s flaming arse, do act like one!_

Alistair gave an awkward chuckle, sitting back and away from her.

“Ah, well,” he fumbled. “You find any extra of either, and I’ll see how I can be of service.”

Eilwyn wanted to crawl under her bedroll and stay there until the next Blight. She nodded woodenly, fully aware of how the butterflies from before had fled and been replaced with acute self-reproach.

“You have watch right? Looks like you’re good here. I’m going to, ah,” Alistair took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I’ll be over there, definitely not blushing or anything.”

“Right. Take care.”

“You as well.” He paused, giving her a look she couldn’t read from the shadows the fire was casting. “If you need me, I’m right over there, like I said.”

“I got it, Alistair. Thank you.”

Alistair hesitated, then pivoted on the ball of his foot and began to walk away, waving at her over his shoulder. He was headed off towards the waterfall, and Eilwyn forced herself to glance away from the area to afford him even more of a semblance of privacy.

_I mean, I could look if I wanted to. I already saw him shirtless earlier today._

She shut her eyes against the image, against how much she’d wanted to swim up to him in the water and wrap her legs around his waist and just float near to him. He'd caught her forearm in the game of tag, and she'd cried out with such excitement that he'd worried he'd hurt her. She'd felt like a child, overly eager and happy and effervescent around him. He was like sunshine to her: she just liked being near him.

But then, in the quiet, she harbored these darker thoughts. When there was nobody else to distract her, she was confronted with such devious thoughts that she wondered how much of a sinner she truly was. When she’d taken refuge behind the waterfall, she’d tried to imagine what Alistair’s chest hair felt like. The stubble on his face was coarse only a day or so after he shaved. Was chest hair the same as face hair? For almost an hour, she had imagined tangling her fingers in the hair that trailed from his sternum all the way down to the hard plane of his stomach. It darkened before it reached the hem of his pants. Did that mean the texture changed as well?

After a few long minutes of unsuccessfully trying to redirect her fantasies, Eilwyn heard the telltale splash of someone wading out into the cool waters. She smiled to herself, secretly, behind her hand.

_If I wasn’t on watch, maybe I would join him. Maybe I'd be brave enough._

_Or maybe I'd stick my foot deep into my throat again._

A whine by her feet brought her back to reality.

“You know,” Eilwyn said, turning to look at McWhistle as she made sure Alistair was out of earshot. “I can’t join him. But you could.”

McWhistle tilted his head, one ear flopping to the side.

“You still have blood between the beans of your paws,” Eilwyn said, putting on an air of indifference. “Just thought you’d want to clean it out more thoroughly.”

McWhistle paused, then started to lick at the bottom of his toes, though not with much gusto.

Eilwyn laughed.

“You big faker. Go on, go get clean with Alistair. Jump right on him, make sure you splash around a lot.”

McWhistle’s tail started wagging, and Eilwyn gestured wildly towards the pool beyond the tents, out of sight because of the copse of trees just beyond where they’d lit their campfire. McWhistle barked eagerly, a puppy noise, and bounded out over to the water.

Another splash, graceless and large, followed by cursing and sputtering and laughter. She chuckled, happy and envious all at once. As the crickets chirped around her in a quiet symphony, and as she heard Alistair calling for McWhistle with quiet clicks of his tongue as they played, Eilwyn felt a wave of intangible loneliness wash over her. She hung her head in her hands, let out a slow groan, and muttered softly to nobody in particular, “Eilwyn… you’re such an idiot.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes my dog's name was McWhistle. Yes he was a good boy. The goodest boy you ever did see! And I had the Always Dog mod that made sure my good boy could accompany me no matter who else was in the party ;)


	4. Dreamy Comparisons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After the Redcliffe ambush, I imagine they got some time to themselves, right?

The rooms above the tavern were cool and smelled pleasantly of cedar. There was some dust on the floorboards, but the sheets smelled like they’d been freshly laundered a few days prior. Eilwyn wondered what they were normally used for. Had Lloyd lived up here? Surely not. Maybe Bella then?

She settled into one room with Leliana while the men left for the other. Morrigan had politely refused, insisting on moving to where they had last made camp in order to ‘research’ something in the confines of her own space. Nobody had argued with her.

McWhistle had stayed with his master, at least until he got bored of the room upstairs and how Eilwyn was not into rough-housing with him. After she pushed him off of her lap for what had to be the tenth time, he trotted along downstairs to roam the floors and sniff out interesting smells, much to Bella’s delight. Eilwyn could hear him giving happy little snuffles as Bella talked to him about her chores, and it soothed her to know the girl was feeling so jovial in the wake of last night’s onslaught.

“Hey,” a little whisper from Eilwyn’s feet.

The room was narrow even though it was long, its width only a little bigger than a closet, and so both beds lay on the same wall end to end. Eilwyn threw her pillow down to the other side and shifted so that she was laying on her belly facing Leliana.

“What?” she asked.

“I wanted to ask you something. Without the judgment of others, should they find the subject too personal.”

“So,” Eilwyn tilted her head, hiding a smile. “Ask.”

Their words were no more than a whisper, tenuous and breathy, and as they spoke Eilwyn could hear Alistair’s voice from the other room. His words weren’t clear, but she could recognize the tones. He seemed to be trying to have a conversation as well, with what sounded like much less luck.

“Do you like Alistair?”

“Of course I do,” Eilwyn said, gritting her jaw and trying to play neutral. “He’s a friend and the only other Grey Warden left besides me.”

“I don’t mean in that way,” Leliana scoffed lightly. “I mean, do you find him handsome?”

"What- why do you ask?"

"I meant no offense. I just noticed that the two of you were very close, and I wondered how far it went," Leliana mused softly. She sounded a bit pensive, almost as if she were reconsidering having asked in the first place. "If I have overstepped a boundary between us, I apologize. I just thought that this was the sort of things that friends spoke of."

"We're friends, Leliana," Eilwyn said immediately. Probably a bit louder than she meant to. The redhead let out a soft titter.

"Then confess!"

“I mean,” Eilwyn stammered, then sniffed. “He’s alright.”

“I see.” Leliana paused, turned as if to settle into bed, then turned back. “Did you have many handsome men in the Circle?”

“Y-yes, I suppose,” Eilwyn said, a pang of guilt catching at her core.

_There was a Templar. Probably better off without me there bothering him, tugging at his attentions, begging for him to like me back._

“Just a few,” she finished lamely.

“How intriguing! Is Alistair ranked higher than them, or about on par?”

Eilwyn swallowed hard, and she didn’t know whether or not to actively compare. In a heartbeat, emotions and memories washed over her in a continuous wave.

Hazel honey eyes, sharp and flinted, more like cut amber than honey if she were being honest. Curls, always strictly oiled back, breaking free by the end of the day when he got tired. He ran his hands through them, Eilwyn recalled. Cullen would get nervous around her and run his hands through his curls. It hardly helped to keep them in place. Excitement, palpable in the way her breathing hitched, in the power imbalance they shared. She wanted to submit. She wanted Cullen to take her.

A second beat, and everything changed.

Darker eyes now, like earth, soft and rich. A smile, a constant smile, so warm that when it was absent, Eilwyn physically felt cold. Her core seemed to hum in response to the way his lips twisted, even when it was at her expense. His hands, very large, very strong, were so gentle when he braided her hair back for her after a bath. There was kindness in his eyes. The urge to protect Alistair was so fierce that Eilwyn felt her chest threaten to implode. He followed her, with such admiration that she didn’t hardly deserve. She wanted to pull his strong hands to her waist. She wanted Alistair to kiss her.

Her heart beat again, a reminder that she had not answered, and she swallowed hard.

“He’s about on par,” she whispered weakly.

Leliana seemed satisfied. She made a little noise in the back of her throat as she resettled more comfortably against the pillows, and then sighed up at the ceiling.

“Tell me of the people in Orlais,” Eilwyn asked. “How gorgeous they must be in all their finery.”

But even though she normally loved a chance to listen to Leliana regale her with tales, Eilwyn found herself tuning out. As Leliana spoke in hushed, soothing whispers, Eilwyn drifted listless in her own thoughts.

She felt… unfaithful, in a strange way.

Strange because there was truly nothing to be faithful to. And even if there was, she had kept Alistair at a bit of a distance, not overtly voicing her desires or confessing even to herself that she found him painfully attractive. For all he knew, they were just friends. Like siblings. Traveling companions who happened to enjoy each other’s company. She tried her best to convince herself of that as well.

But then Alistair would hold her hand to help her cross a log, his fingers squeezing hers before letting go. Or she would catch him reading a thin novella and laughing quietly to himself while he waited for his turn on watch, his sword at his side ready to go. Or he would tell her of the other Grey Wardens with increasing eagerness and warmth, with less tears, as if he wanted her to feel a part of something bigger. As if he wanted to gift her with more than just his company and regretted that he couldn’t.

_What about when he revealed himself to be the true heir to the throne? He looked so guilty, as if I was going to scold him. Maybe I should have scolded him._

Eilwyn had listened to him confess to being King Maric’s bastard and had felt a twinge of immediate respect. But then he had told her that he wanted nothing to do with it, and had looked so distraught that every thrill him being heir might have held was squashed. She actually strangely admired his lack of commitment to it. It took a special kind of strength to stay soft in a world as horrid as the one they lived in, Eilwyn knew this more than most. The fact that Alistair had told her to begin with had been something she’d thanked him for multiple times.

“I like you how you are,” she’d whispered shyly, as she'd torn off a crumb of bread and thrown it out to where a few sparrows were dipping in the tall grass.

“You do?” he’d asked, and Eilwyn replayed even now how flustered and happy and _pleased_ he had sounded at the confession.

She imagined that she could confess more to him. She could tell him she wanted him to hug him, she could even ask him to hug her, and he would respond in kind. She just had to be more direct.

_But… what about Cullen?_

It should be simple. Cullen had never asked her to be faithful. Cullen had never even asked her to reciprocate, or to care. He’d seemed removed, almost to the point where Eilwyn wondered if the rumors of how fond he was of her were just that…  rumors.

And yet, in secret, hidden past the warmth Alistair made her feel, Eilwyn still imagined a future where she would return to Lake Calenhad. She had it all planned out, even though she knew it might never come to pass.

She would ride across the water in her Grey Warden robes, and she would greet the First Enchanter with pride. Maybe after the Blight was over? Whatever that meant. She’d walk up to Cullen, her armor rivaling his in its beauty and strength, and she would look up at him without bothering to stand on her tiptoes.

In this fantasy, where Eilwyn was as strong as she wanted to be and the battles were over, Cullen would succumb. He would bend his head low, his gloved hands at her cheeks, and he would kiss her as if seeing her for the very first time.

She drifted into clumsy, exhausted sleep as Leliana whispered to her, the cool breeze from the slats of the wood in the attic wall caressing her cheek as she dozed.

* * *

She’d had this dream before. Oddly enough, she could recognize it by the smell before the surroundings came into view. Moss, lakewater plants, the wisps of lyrium and parchment from the tower behind her. A breeze that carried the smell of dirt and thunder.

She was back at Lake Calenhad, just outside the Circle.

This dream was one she entertained often back when she was merely an apprentice. It was awkward and aching and embarrassing, and Eilwyn hated that she loved it. She recognized it immediately and fell into it with open arms, a hint of watchfulness nudging at the back of her mind. Even as she leaned into the dream, Eilwyn remained on alert as she ever was for the theart of possession, even as she left herself fantasize.

Cullen was waiting for her, as he always was. She had no real image for him without his armor, but there he was in the water, swimming. They were at the lake, it was night. The mages had only ever been allowed to swim under supervision in the daytime, but she’d seen the lake at night and thought it more beautiful.

Her dream filled in the rest.

Blues and white reflected off of the water that extended too far outwards. She couldn’t see land, couldn’t see the edges of her confines. That was never the case in real life, but it was a dream after all. Eilwyn approached the water, stepping past reeds and into cold mud.

She was barefoot. Glancing down, she realized she was only wearing her smalls. A surge of desire crept through her, building from her toes through her calves, up her thighs and shooting finally to where they met at her smalls. She could feel the yearning within her as a pulse, a steady flex of pleasure along her most sensitive folds as she put one foot in front of the other.

Cullen’s body was hidden by the water, but she could see a white expanse of skin when he moved. Like how the scales of fish appeared ghostly and wraith-like beneath the water, so too did Cullen. But his face was relaxed, the same face he made when he prayed.

Eilwyn stepped forward still, until her feet touched the edge of the water.

He stopped swimming, now that he had caught sight of her, and the scene shifted. He was before her, holding her in his arms, pulling her to his chest. Through dream-logic, it was only natural, and so she did not fight it. Her skin, sunkissed from the day even though it had been hours since last night, was too warm against his. He felt cold, shockingly cold. She moved to try to warm him, sliding her fingers over the ridges of his spine, running her palms over his shoulders, and kissing his lips before she even got to look at his face up close.

Desperate and formless, Eilwyn immediately felt his tongue at her lips, then further. It was terrifying and powerful. She opened for him, sinking to soft earth beneath her knees, letting Cullen guide her hands along his body as he guided them to laying on the ground.

No longer was there mud, the earth seeming to accomodate for her desires easily. A whisper of cloth, and she was being held against him. Without her last fabric of separation she was completely helpless, bare in the moonlight, her tanned skin washed pale and blue. Beneath her the ground was no longer cold. It was soft, warm, like summer grass on the hill by the Circle garden. Her heart beat out a frightened staccato rhythm, and she moaned at the want that trailed in her fear.

_He could Silence me. He could hold me here and I would have no say in it. He knows how to dispel my magic, how to make me his. And Maker… I want to let him._

“Eilwyn,” he breathed against her neck, his lips roving along her skin and worshipping her as she scarcely knew how to handle. The pounding insistence at her cleft grew harder, more forceful. She wanted something, but could not voice what, not even in her dreams. She ground against him in a pitiful attempt to alleviate it, ignorant of what she could do to get her release from another person. She could do it herself, if she was alone, if she had a pillow between her legs to buck against, but in front of Cullen? _With_ Cullen? No, she couldn't, that would be too much, too difficult, and besides-

_He would never debase himself with a mage._

“Eilwyn,” he said once more, insistent now. But the voice was no longer his. It was richer, not a command, more of an invitation. It sounded… worried?

The sound of a waterfall. The coolness of a stream. Powerful arms holding her as they tread water together, scratchy stubble at her collarbone. Eilwyn pulled away.

“A-Alistair?”

It was him, changed so rapidly from her previous fantasy that it left Eilwyn reeling. Alistair was holding her loosely, not trapping her or pulling her. His hands were at her shoulders.

And he was hers.

She knew it by the way his expression shifted at her calling his name, and her body immediately responded. She lifted one leg to hook about his hips, to draw him closer. Her hand tangled in the short hair at the nape of his neck so that she could pull his mouth to hers. Instinct drove her, maddening in its futility, but in her dream Alistair moved with her in confident, unhurried embraces.

She kissed him, and the pace was different. No longer was it punishing; it was exploratory and sweet, and she could feel him smiling against the flick of her tongue. She led him further, placing his hands where she wanted them, and she could hear his whispered groans of awe mingling with hers. He sounded amazed that she would do this, with him, here.

_He wants you just as much as you want him. And he's not afraid of you._

She moaned at the sweetness of it, at the slickness she felt between her thighs despite being surrounded by water, at how good he tasted and how much she wanted to-

“Eilwyn.”

His hand at her shoulder shook her hard, and Eilwyn gave a snort of distress as she bolted upright from her bed. Her hand lashed out, lightning flaring about her fingertips, and she heard Alistair give a nervous yelp.

“Woah, woah, it’s alright! You’re safe. It’s alright.”

Eilwyn settled, her heart pounding as she dispelled the crackle of electricity harmlessly into herself once more. The room above the tavern came back into bleary view. She glanced behind her, but Leliana was gone and the other bed was empty. Looking up, she saw Alistair seated at the edge of her bed by her side.

“Alistair?” she murmured, and even the echo of his name on her lips sent a shot of delight through her core.

He smiled at her. Damn him, he was so handsome it hurt.

“Yeah," he chuckled. "Who else would it be?”

Eilwyn tried to slow her breathing.

"What happened? Are you okay, are we- do we have to leave? More darkspawn?"

He stopped joking, his smile falling away at the first sign of her distress. With an air of desperate reassurance, he reached out and put a calming hand on her shoulder.

“No, no no, nothing like that. We're safe. You're safe. You were having a nightmare, and I woke you up,” he said. “That’s all.”

“Wh-what?” she asked, confused. "No I wasn't."

“No need to try to hide it, it's okay. Leliana said you were making noise when she woke up, so I came to check on you.” Alistair’s voice was kind, sympathetic, and he put his other hand on her forearm. “You were moaning in your sleep.”

Eilwyn stared at her lap, realization setting in. She shifted a bit under the thin sheet someone had draped over her as she slept and could feel slick between her legs.

_I was moaning._

“Oh Maker,” she groaned, bringing both hands up to cover her face in her shame. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be. Last night was rough,” Alistair said kindly as his hands slid from her arms. She couldn't be sure, but she thought she heard him crack his knuckles, as if he wanted something to do with his hands instead of touching her further.

_Stop projecting onto him!_

“After facing down so many darkspawn, dreaming about them is kind of inevitable," he continued. "I personally dreamed that they were doing an elaborate run-through of a play I saw once with Arl Eamon. It was simultaneously horrifying and hilarious. Not sure what that means for my subconscious, actually, now that I say it out loud…”

Eilwyn let out another low groan of frustration, and Alistair gave her a playful shove on her thigh.

“Yeah, try to get _that_ imagery out of your head before your next sleep. You’re welcome."

"Alistair-"

She paused, unable to say what she wanted. Should she tell him she was dreaming of him? It felt like she’d used him somehow, without his permission. Eilwyn faltered, unsure of how to convey something that she wasn’t entirely sure she should apologize for. She peeked through her fingers, wishing she could just say it already, just confess what her dream had shown her. Alistair regarded her with quiet patience, but when she gave a sigh of capitulation, he patted the meat of her thigh with his open palm hard enough to make her flinch from the sound.

“Hey!” she protested, dropping her hands to hit his leg right back. She hit him harder than he'd hit her, residual nerves channeling her energy into the blow.

_Andraste's arse, his legs are carved from stone._

Alistair held up his hands, a playful apology already on his lips as Eilwyn gave another helpless little groan at the direction her mind was wandering.

"Sorry! I didn't mean to hurt you!"

"You didn't-"

"But it’s time for you to get up anyway. It’s almost dinnertime. Bella has a hot meal for us, before we head out for the Arl’s.”

“Really?” Eilwyn narrowed her eyes. “She's done too much already.”

“She's very grateful to have this business you gifted her,” Alistair said, settling his hands in his lap. "Said refusing wasn't an option."

"But she won't make any money if she keeps gifting us back!"

"Leliana doesn't seem to mind," he replied with a rueful smile at the door. “She’s excited to have something besides Ferelden-style stew for a change. Hope for her sake that Bella is a better cook than I am.”

“Mmhmm,” Eilwyn muttered.

She was distracted, staring at the undone collar of Alistair’s tunic. The curve of his neck was right there. She could reach out to him. They were alone right now. She could do it, she could move forward and not even embrace him, she could just plant a tiny kiss on that delectable little curve... right... there.

He was so close that she could smell him, a fact that made her feel dirty and debauched. Even more so since it drew out a primal pleasure from her. Beyond the oil he used on his leather boots, the soap they all used when they could to wash up, and the smell of mabari they all seemed to share… there was something else. Rich, reminding her of sunshine. It was not acrid like sweat or repugnant like body odor, but she knew it was unique to Alistair's body alone. Something animalistic.

Eilwyn felt her brow furrow, and she forced her eyes back down to her lap.

_Oh sweet Maker, please do not let me be turning into some kind of pervert._

Alistair turned back to her then, his hand coming up to wave lightly before her to get her attention. When she looked up to meet his gaze, his eyes were creased in concern.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“About what?” she asked.

“Your dream.” He shook his head. "It must have been a really bad one if you're so out of sorts."

“It definitely wasn’t bad,” she mumbled before she could help herself. She saw Alistair’s eyebrow quirk, and her face immediately grew hot enough to fry an egg. “No! No, um, I mean, what I meant to say was,” Eilwyn stammered, glancing back down at her lap to try to straighten out her thoughts.

“Oh,” Alistair drawled, causing her to cringe. “So you had a _sexy_ darkspawn dream. I see how it is. And I thought having them in a play was strange. Were they in lingerie in yours?”

Her eyes immediately shot to his, wide and horrified. Alistair had both eyebrows raised now, his expression pure, unadulterated amusement, and Eilwyn pushed his shoulders with both hands.

“Up, up, let’s get up and go eat dinner!”

“But we were talking about-”

“Nope! Dinner! And we’re not going to talk about any dreams around any of our friends!”

He obeyed her, allowing her to shove him out the door, and Eilwyn tried her best to ignore the way he smiled as if her embarrassment was incredibly funny to him.

When they ate their meal, she deliberately sat far away from Alistair’s place at the corner. She thanked Bella a few times for her hospitality, but beyond that she kept to herself. Staring into her soup at the vegetables instead of eating them, Eilwyn contemplated why her mind had played such a cruel trick on her.

Beyond that, she also wondered if she would be able to look at Alistair the same way again after experiencing something so real. When he called her name across the table to get her to pass the bread basket, her heart fluttered like the stupid traitor it was, and she glanced up at him only once. She could not trust herself to do more.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I romanced him with Eilwyn, I actually didn't trigger a lot of Alistair's flirting dialogue until after the Circle of Magi quest. Coming from Inquisition I just didn't think to click on him much when we were outside of camp.
> 
> Not at first, anyway ;) 
> 
> Also sidenote, Eilwyn's politeness hides a mighty thirst. Poor dear.


	5. Goodness and Worthiness

Cool bars under her fingertips kept her rooted in reality. She was looking into her past, into her biggest regret, and Jowan was looking right back at her. The only way Eilwyn knew it wasn’t a dream was because of the metal pressing back into her palms from the bars of his jail cell.

He deserved to be there. Her instincts told her so, cloaking her initial reaction of wretched despair at seeing her friend anywhere but free.

_He is a maleficar. He does not deserve to be free. Not after what he did._

_But was he not also my friend? Didn’t he just want what I now have?_

Eilwyn stared at him, her hands growing sore from how tightly she clasped the bars. Behind her, she could hear bickering, quiet and far away even though her friends were right at her shoulders. She didn’t bother tuning in to them; she acted before she could think better of it.

Opening the door with a key she’d found on the floor, she swung the cell bars towards herself and away from her friend.

“Come on,” Eilwyn said, her words thick and waxy on her tongue.

Jowan stayed against the back wall, brow furrowed, as if he did not believe her. He looked scared, which made her want to spit. Him? Afraid of her? After what he’d done to escape the Circle? She barely wanted to relive the way his blood had sounded on the stone floor.

“What are you doing?” Alistair caught the cell door in his own hand and held it in place. At the sound of his voice, she came back to herself. “Eilwyn, you can’t be-”

“Come with us,” Eilwyn interrupted, speaking over Alistair and addressing Jowan. The mage gave a bark of a laugh, then sobered when he saw Eilwyn’s expression.

“You’re serious?”

She nodded, because she was not sure she could find the words. For a moment, they regarded each other in complete silence, their breathing quick and panicked like scared animals. Eilwyn wished more than anything that magic allowed one to jump in and out of another’s thoughts were they willing to let you in. She would bring Jowan into her mind and show him the guilt that plagued her, the regret that clawed at her even now. She would show him how she’d hoped for his freedom, for his betterment, even as she had mourned his use of blood magic.

Jowan gave a laugh that sounded suspiciously like a sob.

“No,” he whispered, shaking his head. “I… Ell, you know I can’t.”

“I’m not leaving you here to die,” Eilwyn said firmly, past the ache within her chest. “Look, if nothing else, I want you to put things right. If you can’t do that, just…” she swallowed hard. “Just don’t make things worse. Alright? If you can’t go with me, just don’t make things worse than you already have.”

He flinched, her words a slap that stung even to say. But he did not argue.

“Alright. I won’t,” he promised, already edging past Eilwyn towards the door leading to the courtyard.

Leliana and Morrigan stepped back to leave him room, and he was gone before Alistair even had time to scoff.

“He admitted to poisoning the Arl and you let him go?” Alistair stepped back, one hand on his hip and the other at his temple. He took a breath, then dropped his hand to shake in her direction. “Eilwyn, why would you do that?”

“I couldn’t very well leave him here to die.”

“Why not?” Alistair snorted. “He did a bad thing. He is a bad guy. Bad guys stay in jail cells!”

“He’s not-” Eilwyn caught herself, because her voice was raised. She could feel ire flooding into her limbs, making them shake, but it was not anger at Alistair that was the cause. She was angry at herself, because he was right.

_But right isn’t always just one or the other, is it? We’re both right, aren’t we?_

“Sometimes,” she said, “good people do bad things. And if that makes them bad, okay, I won’t argue with you. But I just… I couldn’t leave him here to die. That's all.”

“But here was safe,” Alistair said. “If you cared about his life-”

“He called you Ell,” Leliana interrupted quietly. Something about that statement paused everyone in their tracks, and Alistair let his hands drop to his sides.

“You knew him,” he said softly.

It was a question, albeit a gentle one. Eilwyn nodded, and turned to face the sparse little hole in the rock that had been Jowan’s cell for Maker knew how long now.

“Is he the one who…? Before you were recruited?”

Another nod, and Eilwyn finally turned to Alistair once more. She'd told him a very glossed-over story of her Harrowing and then subsequent recruitment, sometime on the road long ago. She'd never mentioned names. A stubborn little ounce of pride budded in her chest, because for once she didn’t feel like she was going to burst into tears.

Even though part of her still wanted to, she knew she had a job to do here.

“Yes,” she answered, stepping closer to Alistair. “I knew Jowan back in the Circle. He asked for my help escaping, right after my Harrowing, and I did what he asked. I gave him his phylactery, I snuck him through the tunnels. But not before I told the First Enchanter everything he was doing.”

Alistair frowned. He’d heard this story before, but he did not interrupt.

“I betrayed him then. I left him on his own once, when I should’ve defended him. Blood magic or no, Jowan isn’t a bad person, and poisoned Arl or no, I do not think he deliberately caused Connor to accept a demon into himself.”

Alistair’s eyes narrowed, and Eilwyn watched him search her face. She tried to keep her expression neutral, but as he held her gaze, she could feel the sadness loosening her clenched jaw. It parted her lips, gentled her brow. Under Alistair’s eyes, she felt strangely as if he could read her mind better than another mage could. She inhaled deeply, and a tangible thought flickered like a dying candle at the forefront of her mind.

 _Please. Trust me_.

Alistair closed his eyes, then hung his head. He turned back to the jail cell and closed it, moving towards the door where Jowan had slipped past them.

“Alistair?”

“What?”

“Where are you going?” Eilwyn called. She was moving towards him, Leliana at her side.

“Up to try to find a way inside the estate,” he answered, his voice a monotone. He did not turned so that she could see his face as he said so, but Eilwyn felt the prick of his disapproval regardless.

As they climbed the stairs towards the manor, Eilwyn felt a hand at her elbow.

“For what it’s worth,” Morrigan murmured as the other two carried onward, “I think you did right by your friend.”

“I don’t know that he’s my friend anymore,” Eilwyn answered, and the center of her chest seemed to chill and invert upon itself.

Morrigan sucked air through her teeth.

“You are one to him, regardless of his opinion of you,” Morrigan answered, and she gave Eilwyn’s elbow a squeeze. “And regardless of whatever tantrum the little Chantry boy throws,” it was Eilwyn’s turn to snort in surprise, but Morrigan spoke over her outburst. “I agree with not leaving him here to face judgment.”

“Th-thank you Morrigan,” Eilwyn answered. But the witch was already brushing past her, on her way up the stairs with her staff clicking gently against the stone underfoot.

Eilwyn’s fingers closed about the shaft of her own weapon, its cool steel even colder now. Like a prison bar wrenched from its holding cell. Like a failed friendship. Like a disappointed companion. Eilwyn grit her teeth, her focus settling into place alongside her guilt, and followed the path up without another word.

* * *

Possession. It was always painful to be around, like it made something in her blood bristle defensively, but to be around it in someone so young... The thought was intimidating and horrible, and Eilwyn felt closer to shattering than she had down in the dungeon. Jowan’s frightened expression, as if Eilwyn might hurt him at any moment, was nothing compared to the way that child had looked at her and made _her_ shrink into herself.

A demon had stared out of his eyes. Malice and cruelty and boredom, mingling together in hardened brown irises that glazed over with the effort of remaining in control.

And Eilwyn had had to strike innocents once more, thanks to the demon’s whimsy.

Guard after guard lifted their weapons against her, and try as she might to only incapacitate, she could hear bones cracking and blood gushing beneath their armor plates. Eilwyn had two at her back, her staff falling to the floor as they caught her with a rod across her shoulders, and as she brought forth a cloud of lightning she could hear a child laughing past the howls of pain and snapping of joints from their sockets.

Only when Teagan was struck down did Connor seem to come back to himself.

Eilwyn watched him cry out and run off, and just as she positioned herself to sprint after him, Isolde caught her elbow and kicked at her legs.

“Please! He’s just a child!”

Eilwyn crumpled onto the rug with the distraught mother, her balance off and her mana weakened to the point where a frail noblewoman took her down with just a meager tap to her knees.

She grunted as she sat down, her satchel of potions clanking angrily at her side with the force of the fall, and Isolde sank with her. Eilwyn watched, half horrified and half amazed, as the composed Orlesian noblewoman let out a bereft little sob into both of her hands.

Behind her, Eilwyn could see Alistair tending to Teagan, who was apparently not dead. What a relief that was, to see him sitting up with a low groan. To Alistair’s right, Morrigan was murmuring something to herself about whether or not this was worth all of the trouble, and Leliana was far beyond them saying prayers over the fallen guards one by one. Eilwyn was left with Isolde, and so she did what she would want done if she was crying in a desperate, scared heap.

She hugged the Arlessa with as much dignity as she could muster, and shushed her politely.

“I know,” Eilwyn whispered. “I know. I know.”

In her panicked state, what with having seen her son bringing innocents to blows with the Grey Wardens meant to help, Isolde let herself be comforted. She cried with a beauty that made Eilwyn feel particularly inferior; when Eilwyn cried, there was much more snot and sniffling.

Rather than think of such absurdities, Eilwyn merely patted Isolde’s shoulder until her breathing was more regular.

As Isolde quieted, her loftiness replenishing itself expontentially, Eilwyn chaned a glance up at Alistair.

He was watching Isolde with a suspicion that did not suit him. His normally kind, soft eyes were flinted amber here, bright with a heightened skepticism that Eilwyn had seen only a few times. Back when they had conversed with Flemeth, Alistair had worn this same expression, for instance. It meant he was uncomfortable, and that he could not put his finger on why.

As if he could feel her eyes, Alistair glanced up and caught Eilwyn’s gaze.

The change was immediate. The tension in his brow was gone, replaced by an openness that cut Eilwyn raw. He mouthed something across to her, even as he was helping Teagan to his feet.

_Are you okay?_

Eilwyn blinked, then nodded, allowing her mortification at the situation to show in her face while she shot a quick glance to where Isolde was swiping her eyes and standing on shaky legs. Alistair gave her a little nod, his lips pursed together, and she thought she heard him sigh.

“Here,” the Arlessa held out a hand to Eilwyn. “I did not mean to show such weakness, forgive me.”

“You’re his mother,” Eilwyn answered, taking her hand to help herself up. “I understand.”

“Isolde?” Teagan groaned, leaning heavily on Alistair as the group rallied themselves about him. He gave a low grunt. “What happened?”

“Connor, he ran off after he-” Isolde stopped, staring at a place just beyond Teagan’s shoulder. It took Eilwyn a moment for her eyes to catch what the Arlessa’s had. It was a moment too late, for she stepped over to the man who had just entered the main hall and raised her hand as if to strike him. “You!”

“Jowan!” Eilwyn shouted, louder than she’d meant.

Alistair turned, and Eilwyn watched as Leliana’s hand went to the knife at her hip.

“Please!” Jowan lifted his hands against the onslaught, and Teagan reached out to pull Isolde’s hands down. With a cry of impotent frustration, Isolde shook Teagan’s hands free from her wrists and stood there, disheveled and elegant and furious.

Jowan looked to everyone in turn, his hands out before him as if he expected manacles. Finally, after everyone had gotten a look at him, his eyes fell to Eilwyn’s.

“I think I know how to help Connor.”

* * *

“Are you sure about the ritual, Eilwyn?” Leliana asked.

The two women were alone, meandering about the first floor. Eilwyn had sent Morrigan away with Alistair to clear out the shambling corpses down the hall, and she now found herself in a room with her most probing friend. Which had not been her intention.

“Yes,” Eilwyn said quietly.

"You could allow the mother to sacrifice herself," Leliana stated.

She sounded as if she were testing Eilwyn's resolve, as if she didn't agree with allowing Isolde to give up her life to send a mage immediately into the fade, and Eilwyn didn't appreciate that. She tightened her lips, then shook her head.

“No, we use the mages and lyrium from my Circle."

"It won't be easy to get."

"First Enchanter Irving knows me. He trusts me. We have to enlist the help of the mages based on the Grey Warden treaties regardless, so two birds with one stone I suppose.”

“You know you do not have to be the one to enter the fade,” Leliana said, running her hands over the spines of books as they wandered further into the study. “You could send Morrigan. Or your friend, Jowan.”

That word again. Friend. It hurt to hear.

“No, Leliana,” Eilwyn said resolutely. She thumbed through a few pages of papers on the desk, as if the information there could help her reach Connor more easily. She looked up at Leliana. “It has to be me. I won’t put them through the Fade, not when I know I can handle it.”

“I do not mean to insinuate that you cannot,” Leliana replied, and one of her eyebrows quirked downward. “I merely worry for you.”

“Ah, sorry,” Eilwyn reached out with one hand and gave Leliana’s fingers a squeeze. "I'm worried too. Guess I'm still a bit defensive after the main hall nonsense."

"We'll be able to rest on the road, I'm sure."

With that, the former bard seemed to be tapped for conversation. She strolled away from where Eilwyn stood with one hand on the desk in the center of the study, back towards a few books that had caught her eye before. Giving a sigh, Eilwyn searched through the drawers, mindlessly flicking through papers and quills and-

She gave a little gasp, as if she’d been burnt. Eilwyn glanced up, afraid the noise had alerted Leliana to what she’d found, but there was no reaction from her companion. Leliana was far enough away. Eilwyn swallowed, reached back in the drawer, and pulled out a beautiful, ornate silver necklace.

It was cracked, with weblike breaks running all across its length back and forth like cross hatched frost on a windowpane. Running her thumb over its silver surface, down the emblem of Andraste’s flame, there were no gaps or dents. It was glued solid and beautiful once more, with only a few of the ridges exposing that it had once been shattered into tiny bits by a young boy’s temper.

 _Alistair_.

Eilwyn’s heart clenched, and she closed her fingers gingerly over the amulet.

This had been his, had been precious to him, she was almost certain of it. It had been his mother’s, and it was a thing that rooted him to this world more tangibly than anything else she’d come across. He had worn this before the Chantry, before the Wardens. When he was only Alistair.

Eilwyn tried to imagine a young boy, the amulet too big for him to wear without it bumping against his stomach as he ran around playing. A little boy with golden hair and sunburnt shoulders, with a smile that surely held gaps where he’d knocked a few teeth loose prematurely. Without realizing, Eilwyn held the amulet up to her chest, protective and speculative and warm.

She remembered the way he’d told her about it. It had been several days ago, when they were still on their way to Redcliffe.

They’d been by a grassy ridge, their camp set up in the middle of a break in the thicket so that they could have a fire without fear of burning down the Brecilian forest. The ridge hadn’t been very high, only a dozen feet or so, but it had overlooked a patch of mossy, lichen-covered boulders. She’d commented absently to the group that it reminded her of sleeping giants, all bundled together, and Alistair had been the only one to agree.

So she’d invited him to sit with her there after dinner. Eilwyn had been dangling her feet over the edge, a candle burning at her side, and she’d been humming to herself as she’d mended a few tears in her robes. Alistair had been at her other side, sewing clumsily at his own socks in the dark, every once in a while holding his garment across her lap so that he could check its progress in the flicker of her flame.

“You know,” he’d said, then had immediately hissed as he pricked himself with his needle.

“Don’t talk and sew,” Eilwyn had teased him with a laugh. “Sewing takes concentration.”

“Maybe that’s why you’re so good at it. You’re much better at concentrating than I am. Maybe I should have you do this instead,” he’d grumbled.

But when Eilwyn had moved to take his socks from his lap, he’d jerked them away.

“I was teasing. Don’t call my bluff.”

“Why not?”

“It’s just not a good habit to get into,” Alistair had said with a laugh. Eilwyn had narrowed her eyes at him, and he’d cleared his throat as if embarrassed. “Shall we have another round of juicy gossip, then? Seeing as it’s just the two of us.”

“And our giants.”

“Ah yes, and those sleepy fellows down below. But pay them no mind, they won’t listen.”

“Mmhmm,” Eilwyn had kicked her legs out further, scooting close to the cliff. “I’d rather have another Alistair Interview, if I’m being totally honest.”

He’d groaned, but had not told her no. As she had asked about his childhood and Arl Eamon, he’d gradually opened up about himself… after a good tease or two. As the candle flame had waned, he’d confessed to her about being sent away, and how it had wrecked him at the time. The forgiveness in his voice, however, had lent the whole conversation an air of wistfulness. As Eilwyn’s hands had stilled, he’d told her about throwing his mother’s pendant in anger against a wall and immediately being washed over with regret at the sight of it shattered.

“It was the only thing I had to remember her by,” Alistair had said softly. “It was a stupid, stupid thing to do.”

“You were young,” Eilwyn had interjected. “You were hurt.”

He’d shrugged, as if it didn’t excuse it.

“The Arl, he came by the monastery a few times after that to see how I was, but like I said. I was stubborn. I hated it there, and I blamed him for everything… and eventually, he just stopped coming.”

“He cared about you, Alistair,” she’d murmured. “Your stubbornness wouldn’t change that.”

“I was a brat in the end, it’s okay,” Alistair had answered. “I don’t blame him for any of it anymore. I just… I wish I hadn’t been so shortsighted, and that I hadn’t left things as I did. He was always a kind man, and he was just trying his best to mediate life between a punk child and the woman he loved.”

“Mmm.”

“I wish I hadn’t been so frustrated, at least. I could've kept the amulet.”

They’d sat there, a cold autumn breeze bringing the smell of warm earth and dead leaves to tickle their nostrils. Eilwyn had pulled a strand of hair behind her ear, and he’d nudged her knee with his.

“You said your mother was the last one to cut your hair, before you were taken to the Circle.”

“I did,” she’d answered, taken aback that he’d remembered.

“Were you two close?” he’d asked, and Eilwyn had turned to him in shock.

The way he’d asked her, it had sounded like he was hoping that they were. Like he had been looking for a story, for a fairytale. But she didn’t have one to give him, hadn’t had one at the time. She’d frowned and shaken her head.

“My family was rather distant. Before my magic manifested, I think I was a bit of a disappointment to them.”

Alistair had made a face as if he’d bitten down on something sharp and painful.

“Why do you think that?”

“I don’t know. Maybe because I wasn’t a special child? Not strong, not clever, I just… was.”

“I feel like that’s a lot of children, though,” Alistair had joked. “Doesn’t make you not special.”

Eilwyn had only been able to shrug.

“I just remember being alone so often, outside most of the time. Playing by myself, making little flower crowns for all my imaginary friends.”

Alistair had made a soft noise at that, and remembering the noise now tugged at Eilwyn’s heart.

_He’d sounded like he wished he could have been with me._

“But I don’t remember much besides vast amounts of silence in my home,” Eilwyn had continued. “Even my younger siblings seemed to be more interested in each other than in me.”

The impact of her words had been like a blow to Alistair’s expression; he had stared at her with a kind of resigned loneliness. Like he’d understood.

“And when your magic manifested? What then?”

“I was sent away, like you,” she had said, shrugging. “I was maybe five or six? I remember flashes of lily pads, for some reason. A pond I was very close to, and they put me in a white dress my mother had made for my first Recitation. I remember crying for my mother, but she was walking away from me and she didn’t even look back at me. The last time she touched me was when she pulled that white dress over my head, and then she cut my hair short, like a boy’s. So that it wouldn’t get in the way of my studies, she said.”

“Were you angry?” Alistair had asked.

“No,” Eilwyn had replied.

She had wished in that moment that she had been as brave as Alistair, that she had broken something precious too. If she’d left in a flurry of magic, it would have at least made an impression of power on her family. She would have had her strength to bolster her.

But no. That wasn’t her, and it had never been her. She had always been nothing more than a good girl.

Sitting on the cliff’s edge with Alistair at her side, she had smiled mournfully out towards the moss-covered rocks and sighed in reply.

“I remember I promised I would always wear mittens. Then… I told them they could get rid of my fingers, if they wanted. Both my hands, if it would make the magic stop. I begged not to be sent away, promised to be a very good girl. In the end, my father pried me off of his leg and handed me over to the Templars with his hands beneath my arms. Like how one holds a cat that might claw you.”

“Maker’s breath,” Alistair had murmured after a moment of breeze-filled silence. “How could they do that to you?”

“Do what? Send me to a Circle?”

“Treat you like that! Let you think magic was so evil that you should want to chop off your hands rather than have it! You were but a child!”

“I was a mage,” she’d volleyed back. “I could have hurt them. I am always a mage, first and foremost.”

“No,” Alistair had said resolutely, and he’d moved closer to her in an instant.

The needle had dropped from his hand to the ground with a small tink and then his hand was on her shoulder before Eilwyn could even blink. He had gripped her shoulder firmly, as he had when they’d first met, and he’d trained her with a knowing, warm look.

“You’re always Eilwyn, first and foremost.”

It was a memory that she had frozen in her heart, to later scrutinize every millisecond of. She relived it with just as much detail now, in the Arl’s study.

In that moment, she’d felt naked. Exposed. Torn open and seen for who she was, not for who she was trying to please. Her heart had beaten out a quick and frantic rhythm, her lips had parted, and in that moment Eilwyn had wanted nothing more than to close the distance between herself and her dearest friend. His expression had been so genuine, so confident, and his lips had looked so soft. She had leaned forward, her lashes growing heavy, her eyes closing, when he’d made a little noise of laughter.

Eilwyn had caught herself, and Alistair had paused, his lips twisting to one side, and then he’d broken into a lopsided grin.

“Well, I mean, you’re also a mage, you do have magic. And I’m not saying you have to just ignore that part of yourself. Don’t get me wrong,” he’d babbled. “But… your being Eilwyn trumps that, don’t you think?”

“I-I’m afraid I’m not following,” she’d stuttered breathlessly.

_Why are we not kissing right now?_

“I’m saying,” he’d sighed, and he had dropped his hands from her as he’d fumbled to look for his fallen needle. “You as a _person_ wouldn’t harm anyone you loved. Mage or not. Young or not. The Eilwyn I know wouldn’t be able to stand that.”

“Huh.”

She’d sniffed daintily and looked at the robe stretched across her lap, its stitches tight and uniform. He’d pinned her with his words, so direct and so accurate that she had absolutely nothing to say in retaliation. Honestly, she had related very much to the fabric in her lap; stitched tight by Alistair's assessment, a hole mended.

But then she’d glanced over at Alistair’s sock after a second of self-reflection. He’d sewn the hole in his garment's heel so crookedly, twisting half of the wool up into itself, that it had made the sock more likely to burst open with other, wider holes in the future. She’d laughed to herself, and had put out her hand for the garment.

“Give it here, you.”

“No,” he’d pulled the sock further from her, and he’d even gone so far as to bat her hand away with it when she didn’t pull away. “Find your own smelly sock, sneak.”

“A sneak am I! Well at least I know how to darn a sock properly."

"There are no rules to sock darning. Just close the hole. Easy!"

" _Oh_ _look at me, I’m Alistair, and there are no rules to sewing! Which is how I managed to sew my trouser pockets shut completely!_ ”

“That was one time!”

“I’ve never sewn anything shut that didn’t need to be closed in the first place. Just saying.”

“Oh ho, we have an expert seamstress on our hands. Pardon me, Lady Amell…”

Now, in the study staring at the amulet in her gloved palm, Eilwyn smiled again at the memory.

The way he’d described this amulet, how precious it had been to him… did he know it was here? Should she take it? Was it stealing, technically, if the amulet belonged to Alistair in the first place? How could she be sure the Arl didn’t have a secondary amulet, one he had _also_ broken, that she wasn’t pilfering in its stead? 

Oh Maker. Would she be arrested if the Arl ever woke up?

Her decisionmaking was cut short when she heard footsteps nearing the study. Carefully, she pulled out a scrap of velvet from her satchel and wrapped the amulet among its soft folds.

_Pockets. Pockets. I have to put this someplace safe, my pockets might crack it if I fall too hard, it’ll get damaged in my bag with the other, heavier things, where do I put the damn-_

“Morrigan, we’re not going after the boy, not until we talk to Eilwyn,” Alistair’s voice carried just beyond the doorway, and Eilwyn made a squeak of panic.

Spinning in a tight circle, she pulled her collar open, unlacing the tie that kept her breasts from spilling from her robe. She then yanked up and out from where her robes were cinched with a braided leather bodice, and with a twist she hunched over and stared down her own shirt. The meager valley betwee her breasts fell open further with the help of gravity, creating a large enough gap that she could slip the velvet memento against her sternum underneath of her chest bindings just as the door to the study pushed open.

“There you are,” Alistair said, his voice a sigh of relief.

She whirled up so quickly that her braid swirled past her shoulders and whipped her in the face, narrowly missing her eye as it slapped painfully across her cheek.

She let out a noise that sounded vaguely like _gurk_.

“Well hello to you too. Just wanted to say, we haven’t been to the second floor yet,” Alistair continued, oblivious. “Would you like to… Eilwyn, are you alright?”

“Fine, fine,” she said, the flush on her cheeks only darkening now that someone had pointed it out.

“You’re blushing,” Leliana said from far to her right. “What did you find over there?”

“Were you reading dirty books again?” Alistair teased.

“What! I-I don’t, what you’re talking about is-” Eilwyn stammered.

_Andraste’s arse, get it together, woman._

“Leave her to her explorations,” Morrigan chided him. “She deserves to read what she likes, if she likes, without having her braids pulled by an immature little boy.”

“Do you like dirty novels too, then, Morrigan?” Alistair asked, moving forward to lean on the desk with his hip as Eilwyn struggled to tuck the pendant further down her robes without anyone noticing. “You wouldn’t strike me as the type.”

“That depends on what you would quantify as ‘dirty’,” Leliana said. “I believe everyone’s definitions of such things are influenced by their own personal experience, wouldn’t you say, Eilwyn?”

Eilwyn let out another meek little  _gurk_.

“I was talking about the kissy books you ladies seem fond of,” Alistair said doggedly, in a tone that suggested he was only continuing because of Eilwyn’s apparent mortification.

“I fail to see why you quantify physical desire as ‘dirty’,” Morrigan drawled, her tone bored. “Is it because you’re hiding your complete lack of expertise in that area, or because the idea of a body being naked still makes you giggle?”

“Guess it’s all those Chantry teachings. _Thou shalt not read about handling thine bits, lest ye be smote_ and all that. But I’m not knocking dirty books, by any means,” Alistair said cheerfully. “Just surprised a woman like you would want to read them.”

“Surprised because religion is a potent source of women’s sexual disenfranchisement, it would seem,” Morrigan replied with no small amount of disdain.

“How do you figure?” Leliana chimed in, offense coloring her tone as plainly as a wash of fresh paint.

Eilwyn took the opportunity to turn away from the group and shuffle her breasts in her binding so that they were more comfortably snug against the pendant. She laced up, covering her shame, and effectively disguising the little bulge of velvet against her chest. Nobody seemed to notice when she turned back around.

“A woman who studies the ways of the flesh is marked as dirty, Alistair said so.”

“I said nothing of the sort-”

“I had some corpse gall caught in my shirt,” Eilwyn chirped.

Everyone turned to face her, silent now, and she blushed further.

“It was up against my… um… it was just uncomfortable. So I pulled my shirt open and dug it out, and you walked in when I was… doing that. And normally I wouldn’t care, but since Alistair’s a man, I just…”

Alistair, to his credit, snapped his jaw shut with an audible clack. The skin about his neck darkened a deep pink, and Eilwyn shut her eyes to the secondhand embarrassment.

“There. You happy? That’s why I was blushing. No dirty books.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize I should’ve knocked,” Alistair said, attempting to joke away the awkwardness and failing rather spectacularly.

Before anyone could ramble further, Eilwyn gave a quick double-clap. In a matter of seconds, McWhistle came running from the other room, loping up with a doggy grin that made everything seem okay again. She knelt with open arms, and her mabari ran up to her with such a loving expression that she couldn’t help but let out a happy noise. Behind her, Morrigan scoffed.

McWhistle licked at her chin, but then caught the scent of something new. He gave a whine, snuffling at her hair, then her hands, and finally at her ribs. He nuzzled at her chest, sniffing at the velvet concealed below, but Eilwyn tapped his snout gently to let him know to leave it be. He glanced up at her and plopped down on his haunches, defeated. A thought occurred.

_I want to give this to Alistair immediately. Before someone else sees it, or before McWhistle gets ahold of it. It’s too precious for me to remain responsible for it alone._

Eilwyn patted the dog’s head, then turned to look back at the rest of her group with her best neutral face.

“I say we make camp and head out for Calenhad in the morning. How do the rest of you feel about that?”

"You do not wish to talk to the boy?" Morrigan asked.

"No, not particularly," Eilwyn said.

If she were being honest, the depth of his magic impressed her, and she didn't want her own susceptibility to lure anything more dangerous out of the shadows if she approached him the wrong way.

“Well. Then I would suggest we make haste,” Morrigan replied. “You convinced the Arlessa to wait, but I do not know how much longer the boy has.”

“Morrigan’s right,” Alistair said, grimacing as if it pained him to say so. “We should press on until we’re absolutely forced to stop for the night.”

“Oh.”

Eilwyn turned back to her mabari, trying not to let her disappointment show. She supposed it could wait. She could protect it for several hours, at least. She could stop him before Calenhad and give it to him, at the very least.

“Can we send word through Bann Teagan for the First Enchanter to expect you?” Alistair asked, and Eilwyn felt a jolt of panic snap through her veins.

_If the First Enchanter receives word, then Cullen will know I’m coming back._

It had been months since she'd seen Cullen, but a few days since she’d dreamt of both him and Alistair in some weird, sensual combination. It compelled her and terrified her. She desired it, in the same way one desires a time in one's childhood.

It wasn't that she was no longer fond of the Templar she'd known. Cullen was familiar, and their memories together were precious to her. But recently Eilwyn found herself thinking of Alistair more and more often instead. Alistair’s kiss in her dream had been kind, had been sweet. He looked at her with awe, and respect.

_And he makes me laugh. And his hands are so big._

A sudden thought. An image, of Cullen seeing her with Alistair at her side. It had never occurred to Eilwyn how Cullen might react when he saw a Templar who was unafraid of her magic walking up with pride as her equal. Would Cullen be jealous of Alistair? Would he ask for Eilwyn’s forgiveness?

Would he even notice?

Eilwyn grit her teeth, and a surge of strange, thorny guilt coursed through her at the thought of pulling Alistair to her side in the Circle without telling him who Cullen was. At the thought of using him like that. Just a moment earlier, she had felt such a childlike joy at finding what she hoped was a sacred memento of his, and now she felt like once again she had betrayed him without his knowledge.

She would tell him about Cullen after she gave him the amulet. She would confess her sins after giving him something holy. It was only right. It was perfect timing, in a cosmic, dark sort of way.

Confused at her desires and alight with her own fantasies, Eilwyn merely nodded.

“I’ll send word somehow. And if not, there’s nothing wrong with being a surprise. Let’s get going.”

As she stood to leave Redcliffe, she pressed a hand to the center of sternum where Alistair’s mother’s amulet lay. For some reason, instead of the light and fanciful eagerness she’d felt a moment ago at finding it, she could feel only delinquency. For some reason, instead of soft velvet at her breasts, it felt like cold steel tightening its way around her heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I headcanon that a first Recitation might be something akin to a first Communion, just within the Chantry. If there's a legit holiday that aligns with that sort of 'coming of age' service, please let me know!


	6. A Compromise Or Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Strap in for a longer chapter, these kiddos have some talking-out they need to do.

Ambushes, by definition, are always surprises. However, ones perpetrated by darkspawn at least gave Eilwyn and Alistair a leg up before they came crashing into fruition. The ability to anticipate one was instinct, a tingle at the back of her mind that Eilwyn had yet to fully develop, but one that she recognized enough to trust.

She knew something was wrong, even though she couldn’t tell what it was. Alistair and Morrigan were bickering lightly in the sunshine up ahead, and Leliana was picking absently at a burr in McWhistle’s fur. There was no sign of unrest, and even the birds were chirping melodically above them.

But when Eilwyn focused, something was off. The road smelled of coppery blood, coagulating with the dust, and the breeze of fetid corpses. Beyond the birds, she could hear a heartbeat not her own, several of them, and she could feel footsteps echoing in her own blood that were not from her shoes. She had time to gather her mana and reach out to Alistair. She caught his shoulder and pulled him to her before the first arrow zipped past his ear.

“More darkspawn!” she yelled, and saw from her peripheral that Leliana was already shouting with eagerness at the oncoming fight. Bolstered by the enthusiasm, by the lack of fear, Eilwyn began to unleash her arcana as the darkspawn revealed themselves beyond the crest of the hill to their left.

The fight seemed relatively quick at first, her party adept and ready for a brawl. Archers fell from afar, the brutes never getting close to where Eilwyn and Leliana hung back picking them off on the crest of a hill. Morrigan had shifted, assuming the form of a wolf, howling to the point of distraction as their enemies clustered together. Eilwyn noticed how vicious the other mage’s bite was, and thought it fitting. She even had a chance to watch the differences between Alistair and Sten.

Both were warriors, true, but Alistair was so aggressive compared to the calculated way Sten chose every reaction. Whereas Alistair would go for a knockdown, Sten would wait and parry, pummeling his maul into the skull of two hurlocks one after the other in quick succession as soon as they gave him an opening. Alistair seemed so brash to her, as she watched. So earnest and brave. He jumped into the midst of the fray and knocked clusters of darkspawn free from their shields, yelling as he did so. It was exciting to watch. If she didn’t know him as she did, she would have even guessed he was enjoying himself. But then the light would hit his face, and she could see the fear written in his eyes, and the way his jaw clenched despite the wicked, stubborn grin he wore. Compared to Sten, whose exterior was mild and neutral, Eilwyn could read Alistair too easily even in combat.

No matter the differences, though, the fight seemed easy in that moment.

And yet when the ogre came stomping out from a grove of trees just beyond the path, the lifeless body of a bear flailing in his right fist, Eilwyn’s heart stopped.

It wasn’t that they hadn’t faced ogres before. They had, and while resilient, she knew they could best one. It wasn’t that she hadn’t seen them carting around animal corpses before, because that too was not a rarity.

But Alistair’s back was turned the other way. He was too busy taunting a stunned emissary, too busy adjusting his shield clasps on his forearm, and he didn’t see the threat behind him. Eilwyn screamed out his name, her legs already dipping out from under her in order to reach him, but she was too late. The moment he turned, the ogre grabbed at his waist and lifted her friend into the air. With one motion, the ogre swung Alistair towards the ground, knocking him limp.

A horrifying flashback. A thought, of what it would have been like at Ostagar, had Alistair not been at her side in the tower. Back then, she had been the one in the ogre’s claws, she had been dashed to the stone and thought it was the end. But then Alistair had driven himself forward, and he had saved her.

_ He crawled to me and lifted his shield, even as arrows fell around us. _

Time seemed to slow down for her, and Eilwyn had never felt such fury. It felt divine, almost, righteous in its white, focused heat. It reminded her of the first time she had recited a Canticle in a group in the Circle at Kinloch; she had felt powerful then, and felt even more formidable now.

With a slide that almost tangled her skirts about her knees in a knot, Eilwyn tumbled down the hill to reach the ogre. She dipped past the emissary, narrowly avoided a hurlock swinging a blunted axe, and then ducked underneath of Sten’s answering blows. She sprinted with all her might, her lungs burning, her breaths coming in painful whines, as she watched Alistair regain consciousness and begin to stab at his foe’s wrist.

She reached into her well of reserves and cast a glyph below the monster’s feet as she ran. It paused, paralysis setting in, but she could see it breaking free even after but a second. Her mana pool was already depleted, her spells wouldn’t last long, and the ogre was so large. Her lyrium potions were back by Leliana, her satchel dropped as she ran. Come to think of it, her staff was left on the hill as well. She had but her hands and her willpower to channel her magic now.

_ Maker damn me if He must, but it will be worth it if Alistair lives. _

She was finally before the ogre, close enough that she could jump up and stab at its fingers with her daggers. Alistair was kicking out, using the sudden pause in the ogre’s movements to saw at the ligaments in its wrist with deadly precision. With a cry from the effort, Eilwyn leapt upward and caught its pinky finger in both of her daggers. She managed to loosen that singular digit’s hold on Alistair’s waist, and she watched as Alistair sank a bit out of its grasp. But then he whirled as if Eilwyn’s presence frightened him, and written on his face was pure, unadulterated panic.

“No! Stand ba-”

But too many things happened at once for Eilwyn to hear him.

The first being that she cast a force field about Alistair’s body. It froze him in place for a moment, the magic that protected him stilling his movements. It was a risk, doing that to him without his permission, but Eilwyn reasoned that with herself close by, he wouldn’t have to move. She could defeat the ogre, save her friend, and all would be well by the time he came back to himself.

The second thing that happened was the bear corpse connecting with her torso at full force. The ogre had apparently regained use of its limbs, and just as Eilwyn finished her incantation for the barrier about Alistair’s person, everything went white and painful and furry.

She could feel dust and blood beneath her as she rolled, could feel bruising along her shoulders, her hips, her spine, her neck. How far was she thrown? It felt as if she rolled for ages. She tried to stay limp as best she could, her vision blurred and spotted with stars. Had her spell gone through? Was Alistair safe?

When her body came to a stop, when the world’s noises came rushing back into her ears like water into an empty canal, she heard Alistair’s shout of frustration. She opened her eyes, seeing only the blue of the sky above her, hearing only swords clashing and calls from her other companions. As she turned to her side, struggling to right herself, she saw Alistair leaping through the air. Sword outstretched in righteous fury. Back arched in slow motion. A look of determination on his face.

The ogre never stood a chance at that killing blow, and relief coursed through Eilwyn’s broken body. With a gurgle, she laid back on the dirt and closed her eyes.

* * *

A worry was what brought her back to herself. A fear that sat her upright so quickly that she could physically feel her cheeks drain of color as she fell back against the roll of furs beneath her. She groaned, and immediately felt hands at either side of her face.

“Shh,” Leliana hushed. “Slowly.”

“I’m fine,” Eilwyn murmured, but even opening her eyes hurt. She kept them closed, listening to her surroundings as Leliana tutted to herself.

Fire crackling. A whetstone against a sword, slow and metallic and easy. That would be Sten. A few papers rustling, as if a book were being read. Morrigan, then. Far off, a few happy yips and grunts, mingling together with the sound of something hitting dirt. So there was Alistair, hopefully, playing with McWhistle. Eilwyn sighed, feeling tears well up behind her eyelids. She bit her lip hard, trying to quell the sensation. There was nothing to cry about, not if they were all safe and accounted for.

“Where are we?” she asked, blinking open one eye with difficulty.

It was past nightfall, and she could see the ceiling of her tent above her alight with faint, teal magelights. They cast a pallid, firefly-like glow on the tent’s insides, suffusing everything in a light that would not wake her from her rest or require the acrid smoke of a candle flame.

Surrounded by her furs and bedroll, Eilwyn felt drowsy and crushed. Her limbs were so heavy, and her heart felt like it was working overtime to pump her sluggish blood through to her brain. Her mouth was thick with potion film, too sweet to bear. She gave another groan, and Leliana held out a waterskein to her lips.

Grateful for the timing, Eilwyn drank deeply. She spent a few minutes practically guzzling it down, until Leliana deemed she’d had enough and pulled it back from her lips. As Eilwyn swiped away the droplets from her chin, Leliana capped the skein. Only then did she answer.

“We made camp not far from where we were ambushed.”

“What?” Eilwyn blurted. “Is that even safe?”

“We traced the ambush to a tunnel that had just recently caved in. The darkspawn we encountered were most likely milling about because they had nowhere else to go. They were cut off.” Leliana adjusted herself, Eilwyn could tell from the shifting at her side and the clink of bracelets. “We managed to find some high ground, and our back is against a cliff-face, so we should be alright. We were more worried about you, about finding a place where you could recover for a few hours.”

“I’m sorry,” Eilwyn murmured, and as she blinked, tears ran down her temples into her ears. She closed her eyes and sniffled.

“Sorry for the ambush?” Leliana teased, gentle and calm.

Eilwyn’s lip trembled, and she felt so powerless in that moment that she raised her hand to cover her forehead and eyes. Rather that than have Leliana see how many tears she was shedding.

“We’re supposed to be halfway to Calenhad by now, but this will set us back,” Eilwyn whispered. “Because of me.”

Her friend laid a soothing palm on her sternum, shushing her as one might shush a child.

“It’s alright. We were growing tired anyway, and traveling through the night was never really an option. Not given the way we fared in that last fight.”

Eilwyn’s breathing hitched, but before she could demand what that meant, Leliana hushed her once more.

“We’re safe,” she whispered. It only served to make Eilwyn gasp in relief, sighing out her breath so that she could try to calm down. “We’re all safe,” Leliana repeated.

“Good,” she breathed. “I was… w-worried.”

“I know,” Leliana said. She sounded as if she really did. “You took off after Alistair like I’ve never seen you do before. It would have been impressive, had you not been struck by a bear.”

“Mmmff.”

It was a grunt of agreement, Eilwyn could not voice more.

“You’re lucky it did not roll onto you.”

Eilwyn let out a reluctant chuckle. It was, after all, the most ridiculous way to be put out of commission. A bear of all things.

“How big was it?” she asked, her voice husky and low.

“Enormous. Half-eaten by that point, but still,” she tutted. "Bigger than two Stens, at least."

Eilwyn groaned, holding a hand to her temple. No wonder she felt so drained. She was lucky she hadn’t snapped in half on impact.

“He wanted to sit by you until you woke up,” Leliana continued, and Eilwyn’s eyes opened. She turned with difficulty, glancing over at her friend with a quizzical brow furrow. “Alistair wanted to, I mean.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. I told him to wait outside, that I would take care of you while you rested.”

“Why?” Eilwyn asked.

“Why did I send him away?”

“No,” she shook her head. “Why would he want to stay with me?”

Eilwyn could still recall his look of horror at finding her near him. Instead of relief, she had caused further panic. Instead of helping, she'd left him vulnerable to further hurt. She felt stupid, in the moment, and couldn't figure out why Alistair would want to be by her side at a time like that.

It didn't help that, since Redcliffe, she had barely exchanged words with him. After Jowan's suggestion, after his gentle ribbing in the study, they'd not been in conversation. She worried he still disapproved of her decisions. She worried he disapproved of  _her._

“You will have to ask him,” Leliana answered cryptically. She sounded as if she thoroughly enjoyed the back and forth of it all, and it made Eilwyn narrow her eyes at her friend in the dark. “Shall I fetch him?”

“I…” Eilwyn shifted and felt a jab at her sternum.

Velvet soft, covering something precious and sturdy and rare. She blanched further, and brought both her hands to cover her face as emotions rolled through her. Relief, fear, nerves, anxiety, eagerness, and something so warm and desperate that she dared not classify it. She could only nod at Leliana through the gaps in her fingers.

“Please do,” she mumbled. “Only if he has a free moment, of course.”

Her friend did not pry. She patted Eilwyn’s head once, then shuffled over to the tent flap to leave without another word. As soon as she did, as soon as the fabric closed once more behind her, Eilwyn sat up with difficulty.

She groaned, but saw with satisfaction she was not under any blankets. She was propped up on top of all of her layers, still fully clothed in her armor. She could taste elfroot and lyrium still sweet on the back of her tongue, and knew the healing was happening slowly inside of her aching limbs. It would take the night to feel back to herself after a desperate hit like that. She would be able to caste a bit of ease into her own bones in a matter of hours, if she still found sleep evaded her.

But that wasn’t her main concern. Propping herself up on one hand, she began to unlace her robes. Gingerly, careful of the way her ribs cracked and creaked within her as she moved, Eilwyn began to undress. She pulled off her cinched leather vest first, settling it at her side with difficulty. It had been undone already by someone, no doubt Leliana, to allow her to breathe more fully without its boning against her diaphragm.

Her belt had already been taken from her hips, her daggers lain at its side by the entrance, along with her staff and satchel. Eilwyn unlaced the back of her robe as best she could, slipping her arms free and pulling it down over her hips as delicately as possible. She had to stop when it was barely about her knees.

It still hurt tremendously, her back and her ribs seemingly having taken the most damage in the impact, but she managed to sit up on her own to reach forward and try again. Just as she did so, there was a loud bark from outside, then scampering, and Eilwyn knew she had a limited amount of time before-

“Hey, you’re up!” Alistair drew back the flap of the tent, just as Eilwyn pulled her skirts from around her legs. “Oh, Maker’s breath!”

He dropped the flap, staying outside.

“Sorry, sorry,” he called. “Let me know when you’re decent. Sorry.”

“It’s okay, you don’t have to apologize,” Eilwyn said, throwing her robes to the side. They were just too heavy, her shift and leggings beneath them were nothing if not modest. Maybe he was reacting that way because of how she’d excused herself in the Arl’s study.

_ Oh. That. _

“Just give me a second.”

She reached stealthily between her breasts, pulling the velvet pouch with the amulet out and holding it in her lap. Glancing down into her shirt, she could see a greenish bruise forming in a circle in the center of her chest… but it could have also been the pale magelights that cast her skin in such a hue.

“You can come in now,” she called, tying her shift back up at the collarbone as she held the velvet in one hand.

Alistair pulled the flap back once more, but instead of letting out a sigh of relief he seemed to tense further.

“Ah. You are… still undressed, I see. You sure you aren’t cold?” he asked awkwardly. “I can give you an extra blanket, maybe wrap it about your shoulders for you?”

“No,” Eilwyn shook her head, and realized belatedly that her hair was loose. It fell about her bare shoulders in wave after wave of pale blonde, covering her breasts and pooling in her lap. She bit her lip, blushing. “I’m fine right now. The bed’s very warm, and I always overheat after I drink down a healing draught.”

“You’ve got excellent timing, then,” he said, smiling. “Outside there’s quite a chill. Couldn’t have picked a better night to have to drink two draughts in one go.”

She squinted. In the dim light, the tip of his nose did look a bit pink, as did his cheeks. Seemed like he was telling the truth, and that it actually was cold. He was wearing a simple cloak about his shoulders, one that he shed upon fully entering the tent.

"Hmm," he grunted. "You're right. It is pretty warm in here. You sure you don't have a fever?"

_ I could warm you better than that cloak could. _

Shocked at how brazen and inappropriate her mind was lately, Eilwyn cleared her throat as daintily as she could and shook her head. She turned away from where Alistair was paused at the entrance.

“Where’s your armor?”

“Oh, that. It got,” Alistair made a squeezing motion with one hand as he let out a gurgled raspberry from one side of his mouth. “From the ogre fist, you know. So Bohdan’s seeing about getting me another set fitted to my manly physique,” he said dramatically, flexing a bit under his cloak as if to illustrate his bulk.

Eilwyn hummed in appreciation, then remembered herself and let out a fake-sounding cough. Her cheeks burned with how unconvincing it was, even to her own ears.

“Could you please come in here? Maybe?” She averted her gaze, and added, “Make sure you shut it behind you, to keep the cold out.”

“Ah, yeah,” Alistair agreed. He knelt immediately, then pulled the flap closed behind himself.

Deftly, he hooked the tie on the flap about a button to keep it in place should a gust of wind come by. She noted that he kept his booted feet to the side as he did so, away from her bedroll. He shuffled over and sat by her side, where Leliana had kept watch over her, and for a moment it felt like there was no air in the tent for either of them.

_ Maker. His arms. _

Alistair was dressed down as well, his tunic loose about his neck. It was undone at the collar, probably unconciously from the roughhousing he tended to do with McWhistle once they made camp. She could see the tunic was thick cotton, and when he moved closer to her, the muscles in his arms pulled the fabric taut in all the right places.

The magelights, most likely Morrigan’s doing, were already fading, though. It became harder and harder to make out his facial expression, to see where he was looking. With a frantic little flick of her fingers, Eilwyn cast her own magelights just as Morrigan’s burned out with a silent poof. Eilwyn's were more gentle, manifested in a buttery yellow that was warm and inviting. Alistair seemed to relax at the sight of the bumblebee-like wisps bouncing about in the air between them.

“You’re well enough to cast spells again,” he said sweetly. “That’s a relief.”

“Mmm,” Eilwyn brought both hands to her lap, and avoided his gaze for the next request she had. “I’m still not well enough to lift my arms up very high. Or reach to my feet without hurting.”

“Well, that rules out the tree-climbing competition I was going to orchestrate for us later tonight.”

She giggled, a noise that surprised her.

"Really, though, I'm glad you're alright."

“Was I hurt that bad?” she whispered. “Bad enough to make you worry about me?”

“You had several broken ribs, and could barely stay conscious,” Alistair confirmed. “Internal bleeding most likely. Morrigan made you drink a few things, said they were healing potions. She’s a cruel woman, but she can apparently mix up a mean cocktail. You seemed better after you drank, and then you were put to bed.”

As he spoke, she could see fatigue passing over Alistair's features, darkening his gaze momentarily.

“Are _you_ alright?” Eilwyn asked, distracted from what he was saying.

“Oh, I’m fine,” Alistair said, and he shifted so that he was facing her fully. He drew his knees up to his chest, his hip touching hers. He looked uncomfortable, or upset maybe? It was hard to tell, even with the lights dancing above them. “Nothing but a few bruises around my middle. My head’s extremely hard, it can take quite a bashing before it’ll knock anything loose.”

“I’m glad,” she whispered, and even though she could feel his eyes beg to meet hers, she could not make eye contact with him. “Can you… do me a favor?”

“Anything,” he said quietly. “How can I be of service?”

“Can you…” Eilwyn closed her eyes, out of embarrassment at the lust she felt flash through her core. “Can you braid my hair, please?”

“Uh, yes. Yeah, of course,” Alistair said, sounding as if he were shocked at the request.

_ As if he was anticipating something else from me. _

Eilwyn kept her eyes downcast at her lap, at the velvet pouch she held in both hands like it was a precious baby bird’s egg fallen from a nest. She hadn’t even glanced inside to see if it was still intact. The thought of presenting him a broken amulet crushed back into dust made her feel like she’d rather face another hit from a bear. But it was too late to check it now, wasn’t it? She would have to hope for the best.

“Tell me if I hurt you, okay?” Alistair said, positioning himself behind her in the tent.

“I don’t think you could,” she answered immediately, then cursed herself.

_ Shut up. If you talk like that- _

“You’d be surprised how clumsy my fingers can be,” Alistair joked. He knelt, his head coming close to reaching the top, then settled back on his haunches and crossed his legs. “You can sit back, if you want,” he invited. “If it hurts to sit up straight, I mean.”

“No, it’s alright. I’ll be too heavy.”

“You weigh nothing, magelet,” he said with a laugh.

“Oh?" she retorted, trying to cover how good the endearment felt to hear. "And how would you know, Chantry boy?”

Alistair laughed.

“Who do you think carried you to where we made camp today?”

“You… did?” Eilwyn asked, awe obvious in her tone. Awe and gratitude and something else she prayed Alistair would overlook politely as she cleared her throat.

“For a while, anyway, yes,” Alistair said, stumbling a bit over his words. “When we had to climb some rocks, I passed you over to Sten.” He seemed to hurry to excuse the act. “But as soon as we reached to top, I took you back. Made sure you were okay while Sten and Leliana set up your tent. Made sure you were still breathing, all that. Up until Leliana sent me off, that is.”

“Why did she do that, by the way?” Eilwyn asked. "She wouldn't say."

“She said I was fussing over you,” he muttered. “That I was making everyone nervous.”

“Mmm.”

They were quiet then, silent and waiting, and Eilwyn wondered if Alistair wasn’t kicking himself for that admission. She wondered how he had fussed over her. Even though she would never wish it on herself, or anyone, Eilwyn wished she had been conscious through the pain of her injuries. At least then, she’d have the memory of Alistair caring for her to hold onto.

“If you’re sure I'm not too heavy,” she said finally, “then I’ll lean back on you. Just a little.”

“By all means.”

Hesitantly, Eilwyn relaxed slowly, curving her spine gradually as she did so. It felt like all of her vertebrae were in place, which was a terrifying notion to think they’d be otherwise. As she exhaled, she collapsed fully onto Alistair’s chest, and as she did so he gave a little grunt. She was just barely resisting the urge to nuzzle into him when she felt something cool at the nape of her neck.

With one hand, he lifted her neck so that he could pull her hair to one side over her shoulder. The feeling of his fingers at her throat, his thumb at her nape and his palm at her pulse, made Eilwyn feel so fragile. He pulled her hair over to her right shoulder, combing through the tresses with loose fingers, and he rested her head back against his collarbone with a gentle sigh. Using both hands, he began to braid her hair, his left arm crossing over her chest in order to reach.

She wanted to rest her lips against his sleeve, wanted to feel the flex of his forearm through the fabric with her kiss. His arm was loose about her shoulders, the closest thing to an embrace she’d experienced in what felt like months, and Eilwyn could not resist a heavy, deep sigh at just how right it felt to be cradled in such a manner.

Alistair cleared his throat, his fingers catching momentarily at her hair.

His braiding was clumsy at first, as he tried to catch all the strands without tangling them. Eilwyn’s hair was so long that it took him ages to pull one handful gently about another. He kept the plait simple, no Orlesian style or fishboning; just a simple braid over her shoulder. It took Eilwyn a moment to realize it, but he was doing it backwards and pulling it down over her chest as he did so.

_ Impressive. He wasn’t lying about knowing how to do this well. _

Neither of them were speaking, but she suspected it was because Alistair was having to concentrate on his task. His hands were in front of her, working the braid forward instead of off to to the side. Every once in a while, the flick of his fingers would send her curls tracing along the curve of her breast, and she could feel her nipple hardening at the breathy, unintentional caress.

There was a new ache to accompany the ones literring her body’s bruises. This ache, this longing, was at the apex of her thighs. She’d felt it in her dream, her own pulse sending arcs of yearning through her own most sensitive places. Merely the thought of it made her breaths come more rapidly and her heart feel too heavy in her chest. Eilwyn clamped her eyes shut, gritting her teeth against the surge of arousal she desperately didn’t want Alistair to see in her expression, and leaned harder back onto him.

_ Is that my heartbeat I feel? Or his? _

“Can I ask you something?” he murmured, his voice a low rumble that she could feel vibrating into her shoulderblade.

Eilwyn could only nod.

“You won’t get mad?”

“I can’t promise that,” she muttered. “But ask anyway.”

“Back there, in the ambush, what in the world were you thinking?”

The question was kind, even though it was phrased as a rebuke. Alistair’s voice was soft with curiosity, and she had no answer.

She shrugged, and he continued, dissatisfied.

“You left your staff. Your lyrium. You closed the distance between yourself and the opponent, even though you aren’t trained in close-quarter combat," he stated plainly. "You must have been thinking something before you got blindsided by a bear.”

“No,” Eilwyn muttered, shame coursing through her where arousal once was. “Not really.”

_ I was feeling. I felt I had to help you. _

“You’re our leader,” Alistair said quietly, continuing his rhythmic pull of curl after curl, winding her hair around itself as he spoke. “You can’t afford to not think about your actions in the middle of a fight.”

It took Eilwyn a moment, but she realized she could feel his words at her temple as he worked. She could watch his hands move further down her sternum, his movements deliberate and slow. She prayed he could not feel her breathing quicken at the intimacy of such an act, prayed to the Maker for forgiveness against how much she loved feeling him so close, at how much she wanted to back up so that her hips were flush in contact with his.

“What about you?” she accused lightly. “You were too busy hurling insults at a hurlock to realize you’d been snuck up on. Why are you allowed to do stupid things, and not me?”

“Because we all know that not-thinking is the job that I am best at.”

She huffed a laugh.

“If we all start acting like me, rushing out stupidly into the fray, who will fix us up after the battle is done?” he continued. “Morrigan helped you this one time, but I doubt she’ll appreciate being reduced to Eilwyn’s nursemaid should you get knocked back this hard again and again, time after time.”

"I won't-"

"Look," Alistair said kindly. "I had training with other Grey Wardens, time to figure out my own methods and tactics. You never got that chance. Everything happened so quickly, and I want to make sure we can critique each other, just as they critiqued me back when I was a new recruit."

"Hmm," she grunted.

"Just friendly advice, is all," Alistair reiterated, his tone absolutely lacking any kind of frustration or reproach.

It was what won Eilwyn over. It was what reassured her. Too often Templars in the Circle had barked orders and admonishments, and she had to be on her toes so often that she was not used to such casual advice. Or care. Shakily,  Eilwyn brought a hand weakly to his wrist, touching it as he flexed his fingers through her hair. It was a delicate connection to his skin, but Alistair seemed to grow incredibly warm behind her at the touch. He cleared his throat, and she let her fingertips fall away.

“Do you have a ribbon or something I can use to tie this off?”

She set the velvet pouch down on her lap and pulled a band from about her wrist, passing it over to Alistair’s fingers. He grunted his thanks, then set about clasping off the end of her plait.

“Seriously, Eilwyn,” he muttered, his thick fingers catching in the delicate tie as he struggled to get it on tight enough. “We can’t afford to lose you.”

“But we can afford to lose you, is that it?” she murmured sleepily, assuming they were still joking together.

Alistair finished tying her braid off, or maybe he stopped merely to protest. His hands went to rest on his knees at either side of her body.

“Yes.”

Eilwyn paused, confused. Had she heard right?

He said nothing else, and she turned in his lap, pressing a hand to the center of his chest to push back from him. She felt his hands at either of her elbows; they weren’t touching her, but his palms were there should she fall backwards in another faint. Eilwyn frowned at the intimacy of it, at how it made her cheeks burn, at how much she liked the feeling of his fingers in her hair, and at how stupid he was.

“You really think that?” she asked. “That we can just... continue on if something were to happen to you?”

“Yes,” he answered again. “I would expect you to.”

When Eilwyn only glared at him in shock, her mouth agape, Alistair actually laughed.

"But... you're the senior Grey Ward-"

“Oh come on, Eilwyn. I’m a Grey Warden, but just barely less new than you are. I’m good when I’m with you because I follow your orders. I’m nothing to be proud of, but I’m also not a burden. So yes, if there’s anyone out of our ragtime team we can stand to lose in a fight, I feel like it’s going to have to be me.”

“I can’t,” she said simply, keeping her hand over his heart and her eyes downcast.

“Can’t what?” he asked. “Can’t believe someone as handsome as me can be so self-deprecating? I know, hard to believe.”

“I don’t care what you think, I can’t lose you!” she insisted, closing her eyes against even the thought.

She could feel and hear his breathing hitch. A withheld gasp perhaps? Or a groan of disapproval? She couldn’t tell which. She continued before he could take it as she meant it, desperately trying to cover her affections with logic, trying to cover her tracks before he could seek out her true confession underneath of her words.

“You’re the only other Grey Warden who exists in Ferelden right now, Alistair. You and me, that’s all that’s left out of everyone. You’re saying you aren’t useful, that you aren’t inspiring, and that’s utter bullshit. You’re  _ all _ of that to me. I’m the junior recruit here, not you. No matter which one of us leads or follows. I can't just do this without you!”

She brought up her eyes to meet his, and they were heavy with grief and understanding. Even the soft warmth of the magelights surrounding them could not brighten up the expression he wore, and she knew in that moment that she had only dug her hole deeper. She had only confessed more and more clearly, instead of hiding her feelings.

And yet Eilwyn couldn’t stop her words. They welled up within her like effervescence, like bubbles she couldn’t keep down, like the way she had sobbed when she'd first met the man before her. Impulse. She was too impulsive, but she hated that look of sadness on Alistair’s face, hated that he had lost so much and that she had just effectively reminded him how alone they were in the world and how much she needed him.

In an effort to help, and in an effort to evade, Eilwyn smiled lamely and brought her hand up to his collarbone. She gripped it and shook him gently back and forth.

“Who will tell me about Grey Warden drinking games if I lose you?”

Alistair snorted, as if he hadn’t expected to laugh, but it was a frail noise. Eilwyn carried on.

“Who will call me a pig when I eat dinner too quickly? Or, or make fun of the way I trip on the edge of my robes, or tell me his weird opinions about how Ferelden cuisine should taste?”

Eilwyn saw him attempt to smile, but he was thinking of something else. She knew him well enough to recognize that he was no longer focusing on her words alone. He looked heartsick, and she wanted nothing more than to heal him if she could.

“Look,” she said quietly. “How about we compromise?”

He narrowed his eyes and raised an eyebrow, and in that moment he looked older. It sent a thrill of excitement through her, to feel young in his presence. She smiled at him in the dark.

“You teach me some close-quarters combat, put your mind at ease. Then the next time I have to save your arse, you won’t have to worry as much about mine. Deal?”

“Excuse me. Who’s even to say there will be a next time, eh?”

It was her turn to narrow her eyes and mirror his expression, raising one eyebrow just as he had. She conveyed that sarcasm perfectly, it would seem, because Alistair laughed out loud. Swiping at his mouth with his hand, he nodded.

“Deal. Although I will point out that you essentially bullied me into it.”

“I did not!”

“Oh yes you did. You’re a big kindness bully, aren’t you? Admit it, it’s how you got through your Harrowing, you must have strong-armed the demon into being your friend,” he teased.

Eilwyn gave a giggle, allowing Alistair to cover her confession with jokes as he saw fit, until they both fell into an easy silence. His palm had found its way to one of her elbows and she could feel his thumb tracing a slow, languid circle against her bare skin. It sent shivers of pleasure streaking down towards her belly, even more so because he seemed to be doing it unconsciously.

“Thank you for this, by the way,” she said, gesturing to the braid with her free hand.

Alistair gave her a little grin.

“It’s a bit loose in places. I’m rusty, but it should do for tonight.”

“You’ll have to practice more, then,” Eilwyn teased. “As your leader, I insist.”

“What, right now?”

“In the future,” she clarified.

“Ah. Well in that case, don’t go running at any ogres just to get me to braid your hair, you sneak,” he chided. “All you have to do is ask nicely.”

“Mmm, I’ll try to remember that,” she answered, and she brought both hands down to the velvet pouch in her lap. She adjusted her legs so that she was sitting cross legged before Alistair, his knees touching hers. “Um. Before we get distracted-”

“As we are apparently fond of doing,” he interrupted blithely.

“- I need you to see something.”

This gave Alistair pause. He calmed, trying to get her to look up at him, but Eilwyn wouldn’t.

“What is it?”

“I have something for you.”

“If it’s another slobbery cake that McWhistle found, I’ll have to politely pass,” Alistair said.

“No. Just.” Eilwyn bit her lip, then held out the velvet pouch with one hand and finally looked him in the eye. “Here.”

Alistair raised an eyebrow at her in the dim light, but took the pouch nonetheless. He opened it carefully, as if he expected something nasty to jump out at him, and Eilwyn watched as his jaw dropped open.

For a moment, he didn’t seem to be able to form words. His mouth shut, then opened slightly, then shut again. He did not lift his eyes to hers, but he finally was able to speak after a moment of studying the trinket in the dim light.

“Where did you get this?” he asked, his voice small and frightened.

“Back in Redcliffe,” she whispered, worry drawing her brow together. “In the Arl’s study. Do you recognize it?”

“Do I…” Alistair laughed, a sad noise, and Eilwyn saw his fingers tracing the amulet’s perimeter with soothing reverence. He sniffed, hard, and ran the back of his hand across his nose. “Of course I recognize it,” he said gently. “I just can’t believe it’s real.” His eyes found hers. “You said it was in the study?”

“Yes. In a drawer.”

“Repaired?”

“Already repaired, yes,” she said, nerves bristling inside of her like thorns on a stem of doubt.

_ Is it the right one? Is it real? Did I make a mistake? _

“My mother’s…” Alistair trailed off, then sniffed again. “I don’t understand, though. Why would the Arl even have kept this?”

“Because he must have known you didn’t really want to destroy it.”

“In the manor, right? You found this tucked away in a drawer?” he repeated. She nodded once more, and he gave her what looked like a crooked grin in the dark. “So what you’re saying is… you stole it when you were snooping around the Arl's belongings? Oh Eilwyn. For shame.”

“No! I mean, technically I took it, yes. But it’s not stealing,” she said quickly, her voice a bit louder than she’d meant for it to be.

Alistair shot her a sarcastic glance of disbelief, amusement written on his face, but she carried on defending herself.

“It belonged to you-  _ belongs _ to you- so I think the Arl, once we wake him up, will understand why I took it. If he fixed it, it must mean he hoped to get it back to you in some capacity someday anyway, and from what you told me perhaps you mean more to him than you think-”

“Eilwyn,” Alistair shushed her with a word, and she stared at him in the dark with wide, worried eyes.

_ Can he see how much I’m blushing? _

“I’m only teasing you because… because I don’t know how to thank you,” he said breathlessly. “I never expected… and from you, of all people. It just,” he paused, swiped again at his nose quickly, then smiled once more in the dark. “It just means a lot. More than I can say.”

“I just thought you might want it,” she said softly. Eilwyn reached out, hesitated, but then built up her courage and caught his wrist. She gave it a quick, reassuring squeeze before she let her hand fall back to her own lap.

He smiled at her, and it might have been a trick of the magelights, but she thought she saw his cheeks redden at the touch. However, something about what he’d said gnawed at her, and Eilwyn couldn’t rightly let it go just yet.

“What do you mean, ‘from me, of all people’?” she asked lamely.

“Ah,” Alistair said. “Just that, what with everything else going on and how busy you are… that story should have been the last thing on your mind. I’m a bit shocked you even remembered it in the first place, to be honest.”

“Of course I did,” Eilwyn said, and she heard a hint of a pout in her voice that she struggled to contain. “Why wouldn’t I? We’re friends, aren’t we?”

“Yes. We definitely are, Eilwyn, I’m not-”

“Then why say something like that?”

“Because it was a story, told in passing?” Alistair suggested. “One I never expected would result in you finding… this. For me. For no reason other than you thought I ‘might want it’, as you put it.”

“Yes, well,” she bit her lip.

She knew she should stop there. She knew that this was enough, that he was happy, that he would be happy with just this memento and she didn’t have to blurt what she was thinking, what she had been thinking for a while now, the thought that was a bright and resonant-

“I remembered because you’re special to me, Alistair.”

_ Oh no. _

Her heart fell in her chest.

_ No, no no! _

She remembered saying something similar to Cullen, lighting candles before her Harrowing, alone at last in the chapel and so close that she could hear him humming a soft hymn under his breath. She'd told him he was special, and what had he done?

_ I take it back, please, I'm sorry- _

She didn’t know why the silence in the wake of her confession wrecked her so. Maybe because she’d expected it. She had expected nothingness, a lack of confirmation and a lack of reciprocation, even though her stupid, girly dreams had dared her to hope for more. Because one Templar and another were hardly different were they? Bring a boy up in the Chantry, no matter how kind he is, and you'll always end up with a man suspicious of getting too close to a mage.

Eilwyn fumbled in the dim light, in the quiet. She supposed she’d expect maybe a throat-clear and a redirect in conversation, as Cullen had done when she had first confessed her fondness for him in the empty chapel at Kinloch. She’d thought that Alistair would do the same, would tell her that she was a friend, would let her down gently but firmly and then everything would fucking change.

But Alistair wasn’t saying anything. He was absolutely silent, as if he didn’t know what to say. As if he had nothing to say.

_ I'm so sorry, Alistair. I'm so sorry I’ve ruined us. _

In an instant, Eilwyn’s mind raced with everything that she had given up in order to confess this one, small feeling.

_ Say goodbye to your friend, you stupid girl. No more teasing. No more gossip. No more laughter, or late night snacks together, or butterflies in my stomach when he touches my hair. _

Eilwyn closed her eyes against the inevitable letdown, against Alistair’s polite but courteous refusal. She wanted to cry, but no tears came. She was in sick, acidic shock, the pit of her stomach roiling and her blood frozen in her veins. She could only breathe in, and breathe out, slowly keeping herself alive by sheer force of will.

She tried to imagine how awkward it would be from now on. Would Alistair pretend she had never said anything once he refused her, as Cullen had done back in the Circle? Would he tease her about it until her feelings changed from affection to resentment? Would he tell the others she had fallen for him, use it as a joke at her expense?

Or would he even realize that was what she was saying?

Alistair was perceptive when he wanted to be, sure, but right in this moment he might not even know what she meant! Eilwyn’s heart resumed beating, her lungs filled once more with air: there was still hope. She could get away with this, just say that he was regular-special, not special-special. She could tell him it was a simple misunderstanding, and that was her best bet, yes.

_ I can take it back. _

Eilwyn felt a breath at her cheek, and that was her only warning. Before she could even open her eyes, Alistair’s lips brushed against her cheekbone, quick and chaste, in a kiss. Then, as if he felt it was not enough, another one, closer to her ear. Both kisses were soft, and his exhale as he brushed his lips against her skin made her shiver in immediate, deep longing.

As he pulled away, she realized he had his hand flat, palm-down, on the ground by her hip. Alistair didn’t pull away fully, didn’t distance himself from her or try to escape or laugh it off. He had leaned in close, and now he was staying close, the hand with his mother’s amulet held between them in the dark.

“As you are, to me,” he whispered easily, as if it were the truest thing in the world.

Eilwyn’s heart thumped so quick inside her chest that she felt a bit faint. She brought up her hand in shock to touch the cheek where Alistair had kissed her skin. She rested her fingertips there for a moment, spellbound, unable to do more than look up at him in the dark. A kiss? He’d given her a kiss? For that? His eyes were relaxed, his expression something between amused and eagerness, and she tried to speak in the wake of such a romantic gesture, but she could only make a small squeak.

“I…”

“Oh, Maker, was that,” Alistair fumbled, his expression shifting from enjoyment to what seemed like insecurity. His brow knit together, and his smile slid from genuine to awkward in an instant. “Was that okay? I didn’t ask permission, I should have asked permission, right? Next time, if there’s to be a next time, I promise I’ll-”

Eilwyn placed her hand on his cheek and Alistair stopped talking. Eyes wide in the dark, the cold air of outside forgotten, they regarded one another in breathless silence. Eilwyn leaned forward, tilting her head, and Alistair’s eyes fluttered shut in anticipation. She pulled him down and mirrored his gesture, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek in turn. His stubble tickled at her lips, and she heard him give a little chuckle. She let out a breathless exhale, her chest too tight, her head swimming.

“Does that mean it was okay to do that?” he asked, laughter on the edge of his voice. “No offense taken?”

“Mmhmm,” Eilwyn answered. “None at all. You have my permission to thank me that way anytime you deem fit.”

In the wake of such a confession, it was as if the two of them had woken up from a dream at the same time. They sat back from one another, sighing deeply, and their hands fell from each other’s faces.

“I should let you rest,” Alistair said cheerily, his voice a bit loud considering how close they were.

Eilwyn laughed.

“I’m not tired. Are you?”

“No, believe me. Sleep is the last thing on my mind at the moment,” he muttered, moving over to the tent flap to unbutton it. Eilwyn covered her mouth with her fingertips, surprised at the admission and excited that she wasn’t the only one.

Mid-reach, Alistair seemed to realize how that sounded, and laughed at himself.

“Because I have training on my mind! Yes. Lots of training and combat and skill-honing, that’s what I meant. Nothing ungentlemanly about training!”

“Training for what?” Eilwyn asked, giggling despite the innate longing she felt at seeing him prepare to leave.

Alistair paused at the entrance to her tent, pulling back the flap and allowing a few of her fading magelights to escape into the night. He smiled at her as if they shared a rather entertaining secret.

“For the next time an ogre grabs me,” Alistair teased. “Maybe if I train hard enough, our fearless leader won’t have to tumble arse over elbow to make sure I’m alright. She can hang back, and keep herself safe. For my sake.”

Eilwyn covered her smile with one hand, and Alistair held up the amulet to her. Its silver caught the light from the fire as it turned, hanging from his fingers, and he gave her a warm smile.

“Seriously,” he said. “Thank you, Eilwyn. For everything.”

She nodded, her hand straying once more back to the cheek he had kissed, and with that she was left in her tent with naught but the flickering, bumbling magelights for company.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧ (FLUFF)


	7. Welcome Home Magelet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this one is less flirtatious and more Broken Circle intro. We'll get to the angst in the next chapter, so enjoy this little buildup in the meantime.

“What do you mean you can’t take us?” Alistair asked, hands on his hips and his brow furrowed. Had it not been such dire circumstances, it would have made Eilwyn smile to see such massive armor being posed in quiet indignation.

“It means that I can’t.” The Templar looked familiar, but his scowl was one many younger Order members wore. He looked disdainful and his tone was curt, but Eilwyn didn’t recognize him. “By order of the Knight-Commander, until the situation with the Circle has been dealt with, nobody gets in or out.”

“Where’s Kester?” Eilwyn piped up, stepping forward from Alistair’s side. “I want to talk to him.”

Behind her, Morrigan and Leliana were silent. The only noises came from Sten’s low growl of disapporval, and McWhistle’s whine of unease.

“Who?” the Templar sneered.

“The ferryman.”

“Don’t see why you need to talk to him,” the Templar answered. “He won’t be taking you across neither.”

“Ser,” Eilwyn felt a blossom of frustration burst inside of her chest. “See here. I am Eilwyn of the Grey Wardens, and I insist upon the treaties of-”

“Oh, hello Eilwyn of the Grey Wardens. My name’s Carroll of the Werewolves.”

"You're not a werewolf."

"And you're not a Grey Warden."

"Yes I am!" Eilwyn retorted, feeling a bit like she was arguing with a child.

"If you're a Grey Warden, prove it."

"Prove it?" she squeaked. "Prove it how?"

"Slaughter some darkspawn. That's what you do, isn't it?" the Templar asked.

Feeling like an idiot, Eilwyn glanced around.

"But... there aren't any here," she said, hating how pitiful she sounded.

"Well," Carroll replied, "I can't just take your word for it, then, little miss. Now run along, find some bloke to buy you a pint at the inn or something."

Eilwyn stood there, aghast, impotence coursing through her and freezing her in place.

_Ooh if only I could push you in this water you great nasty brute, I'd-_

“Forget this fool,” Alistair said.

“This 'werewolf', if you please,” Caroll sneered.

Alistair turned to Eilwyn and put a hand to her elbow. She allowed it, and together they moved backwards with her party towards the inn by the docks.

“Well that was fruitful,” Leliana mused.

“Eh, who needs him?” Alistair said. “We can rent a boat from somewhere else and row ourselves across.”

“If it were that easy, don't you think that posting a Templar at the jetty would be a useless act?” Leliana asked him.

“I’ve done more useless things for the Order,” Alistair replied.

“I wholeheartedly believe that,” Morrigan said.

“Hey,” he turned, then just shook his head, as if bickering would take too much out of him at the moment. “So getting across the lake is out. If only the Grey Wardens' griffins still existed..."

"Can we have a non-stupid suggestion, please?" Morrigan snipped.

"For the last time," Alistair sighed, "I'm not stupid. I'm charming and playful."

"Yes, I'm sure your ability to read short sentences and signposts was most impressive to the Chantry sisters," Morrigan rejoined, her voice an annoying singsong.

"Why did the mages even build their tower at Lake Calenhad?" Alistair huffed, glossing over the insult. "They have an aversion to practicality or something?

“It’s for safety, I think,” Eilwyn muttered. "Isolation makes sure we can practice without threats from the outside world."

“Sounds like it was designed more for secrecy than safety. If they closed the doors to the outside, they must be trying to cover something up,” Alistair replied. "Not necessarily to keep everyone safe."

Eilwyn didn’t dignify it with a response. She didn't want to think about if it were true.

"I could ply the fool guard with sweets," Sten suggested. "He seems like the type to think with his stomach, if we are to judge on first impressions."

"You have sweets, Sten?" Leliana asked, incredulous.

"Yes. Cookies. There was a child, a fat slovenly thing, in the last village we passed." He rolled his shoulders. "I... relieved him of the confections."

Leliana made a noise as if she pitied the unknown child, and Sten merely shrugged.

"He didn't need more."

"So you stole from a kid," Alistair stated.

"For his own good," Sten replied.

While that made Eilwyn smile, she shook her head gently.

"Don't waste any cookies on the mean Templar," she said. "He doesn't deserve them."

Sten grunted, the noise one of approval, as if he hadn't thought about that and agreed silently with her.

“Did word ever reach the First Enchanter?” Leliana asked. “Maybe he has the ability to send word for us to cross.”

“We wouldn’t know, if the borders of the Circle are shut down completely,” Eilwyn answered. “Just let me think. Let me find Kester. Maybe he knows what’s going on.”

It only took a moment. The docks weren’t that expansive to begin with, and she could hear low conversation by the fire lit under the watchtower. Just as she had hoped, Kester the ferryman was there.

She jogged over to the inn as soon as she made eye contact with him, her party in tow. He had a confused look on his face, but when she stepped into the light, recognition bloomed.

“Ah! Little miss Eilwyn! Never thought I’d see your like around here again,” Kester said, standing and reaching out to shake her hand in both of his. “How do you fare? What of your traveling companion, Duncan?”

_Every time I hear the name it hurts. I can't imagine how Alistair must feel._

Eilwyn deliberately didn't look back to him. She just put on a forced smile and gestured to the people at her sides.

“These are my companions now, Kester.”

“Ah, a good looking bunch, if you don’t mind me saying so.” He wagged a finger at Alistair. "You there. You're shinier than a sovereign in snow, you are."

"Ah ha," Alistair chuckled lightly. "Thank you? It is rather sparkly, isn't it?"

"Bet magpies love you," Kester teased.

The entire party had done a bit of sifting through merchants' carts since their ambush. She herself had found a few additional accoutrements to her robes, and Leliana had insisted on collecting new fletchings for her arrows. But because Alistair's previous armor had been crushed by the ogre and was irreparable, Eilwyn had spoken with Bodahn about a complete upgrade. She had not told Alistair the cost. Eilwyn had fronted the coin herself, and Alistair now had armor that rivaled a Templar’s in size and gleam.

And Maker's breath... it suited him.

It was large and imposing, which made it all the more endearing when Alistair looked around with those puppy eyes of his, confused and awaiting orders. The mail made a satisfying noise as they walked, and Alistair no longer complained as much about overheating as he had in the red steel plate he'd had before. This armor was bigger, but better made. Its silverite gleamed in the moonlight, seemingly capturing the glow of the night around them and reflecting it much as a star would. During the day, he was like a reflection of sunlight on a babbling brook. When he moved, she expected him to fatigue quickly or slow the party down, but Alistair was quick and rarely out of breath, even with the plates adorning his muscular frame. When he took off his helmet, his hair pushed up at the front just so. Eilwyn found her gaze wandering to him more often than not, and-

Eilwyn cleared her throat, regaining her train of thought just as her cheeks began to warm.

“Yes. Well, we have good reason to be. We’re looking to get to the Circle, we have urgent business with the First Enchanter.”

“Oh,” Kester settled back against the fence. “Would that I could help you, miss. But as you can see I’ve been relieved of my duties and of my ferry. Can you believe it? My Lissie! Named after my grandmother, she was.”

He gestured with a thumb jab to the Templar at attention on the jetty, then crossed his arms with a grunt.

“Can’t you speak to him?” Eilwyn asked.

“Already tried,” Kester sighed. “He's not a bad guy, but you can't convince him of nothing.”

“Because he's an arse,” Alistair mumbled, but it didn't seem like Kester heard him.

“Well… if you can’t get us across, can you give me any information? Like what happened that they would close off the tower?” Eilwyn asked.

As Kester revealed that he knew naught more than rumors, Eilwyn began to get a sinking feeling. It was similar to the feeling she had when being approached from all sides by darkspawn; she felt like she wanted to run.

“For now, there’s no getting in or out, not until Greagoir takes care of whatever it is. Might as well stop by the Princess for a warm drink before you head back the way you came,” Kester finished. He heaved a great sigh and moved towards the door. “You coming?”

Eilwyn looked to her companions, who were all various stages of annoyed. She knew she should go right back to the Templar and shove him into the water to get control of the boat herself. She knew this was no time for niceties.

_But… I’ve never stood up to a Templar before._

She could tell in her peripheral that Kester had paused at the entrance to the Spoiled Princess and waited, one hand on the door. Before her nerve could fail her, Eilwyn whirled in place and marched off towards the jetty.

“Eilwyn?” Morrigan called after her.

She stamped on the dock so hard that she could hear the ripple of water beneath her, building up all of her courage. Carroll was regarding her with that same nonplussed, ambivalent little scowl, and Maker she hated it so much that she almost ran back to the inn.

But then she noticed his insignia. It was different than Cullen’s had been. A lower rank, perhaps? A new recruit to the Order?

_That must be why he’s out here, and not involved in whatever happened within the Circle._

“Ahem,” she cleared her throat.

“What you want?” the Templar barked. “I said no entry.”

“I heard you the first time,” Eilwyn said primly, “but I don’t think that you heard _me_. I am Eilwyn of the Grey Wardens, summoned by the First Enchanter himself to help with the situation in the Circle. They sent a request for me and everything,” she insisted, the lie softening on her tongue as she added a playful lilt to her tone.

“Oh?” Carroll narrowed his eyes. “And why wouldn’t they inform me of your arrival then, if there was a request?”

“Are you a Knight-Corporal?”

“Wh-what?” he asked, taken off guard.

Eilwyn motioned to his insignia.

“Sorry to go off topic here, but I seem to remember that being a Knight-Corporal symbol,” she chirped, her voice sweet even in the midst of her nerves. “Did I get it right?”

“I… well…”

“I knew it!" she interrupted, smiling despite her unease. "Someone in this position of power would surely have to be at least that rank, or possibly higher. They wouldn’t bother someone of your rank with piddly details.”

Behind her, she could hear Morrigan make a disgusted noise, and heard what she thought was Leliana elbowing a grunt out of the witch. Eilwyn ignored it, trying to keep her gaze plain and fearless.

The flattery finally seemed to get to Carroll. She could see his jaw drop, and he fumbled for a response.

“Actually, I’m just a Templar.” He smiled, proud of himself, oblivious to the inflation. “Kinloch is my first appointment.”

Eilwyn gave a tilt of her head, as if she appreciated that.

“No! Really?”

He smirked, then nodded.

“They must really trust you then, ser. To put you in charge of the borders like they have. I’m impressed.”

“Yes. Well. What’s your point?”

She paused, then clenched her hands into fists so that he couldn’t see her fingers shaking.

"It's just a shame," she sighed, turning her eyes to the ground before returning them, hoping that their deep blue depths contained sadness. "A right shame, ser."

"What is?"

“I just don’t think your superiors will appreciate you interfering with us getting across to help them. I mean, I do trust that you know what you’re doing, but I merely seek to save you the embarrassment once they hear you impeded us.”

She paused as if she were thinking, as if her voice wasn’t stuck in her throat from fear. She could feel her companions behind her, quiet as they let her bluff, nobody moving for fear of breaking the spell that her wide-eyed gaze seemed to wrap around the unsuspecting Templar before her. When Eilwyn spoke again, her voice was steady and strong.

“They must not have thought to warn you, what with how busy you must have been." Eilwyn paused, tapping a finger to her lips, then lit up as if she had just had an idea. "Say! If you take us across, I can not mention this little incident. We can just put it behind us, you and me. That would be fair, don’t you think?”

The Templar frowned, his brow furrowing, and for a split second Eilwyn worried she’d put it all out on the table too soon. But then he bit his lower lip and exhaled.

“I see. You know, now that I think of it,” Carroll cleared his throat. “The Knight-Commander did say that certain exceptions were to be made in cases of emergency. I suppose I can make such  an exception for you.”

Eilwyn held his gaze with wide, innocent eyes. It had worked in the past, humbling herself to the Templars she wanted help from. In her heart, she believed them to be good people, caught in a Chantry Order too strict for their own good. She didn’t know if it was going to work on this boy, suspicious already and made even more tense with the unspoken situation across the water.

But then he sighed. To Eilwyn's immense satisfaction, Carroll looked away first.

“Right. Let’s get you across straight away, Miss… ?”

“Eilwyn of the Grey Wardens." _For the millionth time._ "A-and thank you,” Eilwyn answered, holding her chin up.

She was still a head shorter than the Templar, but she had never before felt so bloody tall.

Her confidence was shaken, though, when she realized what she had gotten them into. They were allowed to cross, but whatever had befallen the Circle was no place for a former Circle mage to be. What if it truly wasn’t safe? What if she was pushing them all to certain doom by insisting stubbornly that she knew what was right?

_The treaties must be fulfilled. And Connor must be saved. And even if neither of those were true, I couldn't just leave my home closed off from the world._

As they were ushered into the longboat, Alistair reached out to help her down next to him. Without even thinking, Eilwyn grabbed for him, seeking out his reassurance and his steady balance where she had none of her own.

When her hands shook in his, Alistair squeezed them hard. She knew he had felt it. No escaping it now, she'd shown her feelings to Alistair and he could do with them as he chose. Why was it always so easy to let her guard down around him? She was getting so good at fronting with others, at hiding her naivety, but with him...

Despondently wishing she were more difficult to read, Eilwyn settled into the boat with a sigh. She gathered her robes about her legs and tried to sit still. Yet the rush of adrenaline and pride and fear continued to churn in her chest, continued to make her digits flutter without her consent, and even when she clenched and cracked her knuckles she could feel her mana leaking from the beds of her fingernails.

As Carroll pushed off from the docks, Alistair sat down beside her, and McWhistle plopped down on his haunches at her left knee. Reaching out with one hand, Eilwyn looped her fingers through his collar, holding him in place, holding herself in place with the mabari's steady breathing. The boat tipped a bit, swayed in place, then balanced itself, and the water seemed to draw them magnetically across the lake’s surface towards hurts unknown.

In front of them, Morrigan and Leliana were seated side by side, on opposite ends of the bench. Back towards the aft, Sten sat stoic and silent. As the boat moved forward, Eilwyn heard a small shuffle, then felt a brush of something at her hip.

Glancing down, she saw that Alistair laid his hand palm-up between their thighs, his gauntlet resting on the weathered wood of the ferry bench. He was looking away, making some crack about how mages weren’t very fond of him at the best of times. But his hand was there, too awkwardly placed to be an accident. If she ignored the gesture, Alistair would let her, she knew that with definite certainty. And for a minute, Eilwyn considered doing just that.

_Be strong. Be strong now more than ever._

But then she looked down at her own fingers, at the shaking of her wrists, and could resist no longer. Covertly, she slid her bare hand onto the hardened leather underside of Alistair’s glove. His fingers stretched, lacing with hers, and then tightened only enough to pull her palm into full contact with his. When she took a deep, shuddering breath and squeezed his fingers even tighter, he still did not let go.

* * *

_Demons_.

She could hear screaming, echoes from far above. Thumps, like people were moving furniture and smashes like someone was taking an axe to tables. There was a searing heat that permeated the air, making her sweat immediately through her robes and her leather vest as soon as she entered the tower, and yet the air she exhaled seemed to be delicate and frosty with cold.

 _Abominations_.

Fireflies about her fingertips. Nervous blinking lights, harmless, a mana tic she hated. She had broken herself of this habit, she’d thought. She’d fought so many battles that nothing should make her overtly nervous any longer.

But try as she might to rationalize herself back to a place of confidence, her mind was awash with the grays and reds of dull anxiety. She drowned in them, barely able to breathe. Her heart at her throat and fireflies at her fingertips, in an instant Eilwyn was once again a terrified little nobody standing at the landing of the first floor to the tower.

_They’re all dead. No saving them. Have to close the doors._

The smell was familiar, in a discomforting way. She could smell the scrolls and ink and parchment, the lullaby of lyrium, and the acrid smoke that followed incindiary spells. There was the cloy of innards, a smell that made her think of butchers and kitchens and rotten food. There was fear, emitted in the sweat of the men and women surrounding her like an unconscious perfume, crude and musky and tart. Eilwyn could inhale and pick out twenty different feelings all at once, half of them good memories, half of them nightmares spilled into reality.

_Burn it down, burn the abominations down with the tower. That’s the only logical solution._

A hand on the small of her back, leading her to the chapel, just the two of them. Her robes so thin that she could feel the flex of his fingers, her cheeks warm with desire, her heart fluttering with anticipation and fear and what she thought was love at the time. The smell of oil, of a spiced hair pomade, of Cullen.

_Eilwyn... we can't..._

“You can’t be here, Eilwyn,” Knight-Commander Greagoir said brusquely, snapping her free from her haze. “We’ve sent to the Denerim Chantry for reinforcements and the Right of Annulment. We’ll have support within a few days, and in that time we have to make sure none of the abominations escape the tower. There is no hope for those trapped within, not anymore. You need to leave, it is not safe.”

“Wait, Knight-Commander,” Eilwyn begged, stepping forward with her hands upturned. Her magelights flickered out, her willpower maintaining her self control finally. “There might be survivors.”

"The mages within are-"

"Templars as well! You said you shut your men inside, what if they're alive? What if they're hurt, if they need help?" Eilwyn demanded, her breathing ragged in her chest.

_Tell me Cullen made it out._

“I highly doubt that there are any survivors,” Greagoir said. "The tower has been overrun for days now. Do you think we did not try to find survivors? That we didn't attempt to locate our brethren, or do you assume that I merely shut the door as soon as the first sign of possession reared its ugly head?"

“We can’t just abandon-”

“This Circle is lost!”

“This Circle is my home and I will not let it fall!” Eilwyn cried, her voice breaking.

She inhaled, emotion sitting heavy in her throat like a pill. She drew in another breath, her chest rising and falling too rapidly, but she was not done. She reached out, palms upturned, a supplicant.

“Please, Knight-Commander,” she said, her voice tremulous and fragile. “You cannot leave innocents within to perish. No more mages or Templars have to die tonight, not while I’m here to save them. Please. Let me in. Let me end this.”

Greagoir watched her, anger written across his features as he considered her offer. He clenched his jaw once, twice, and then took a deep breath.

“I will not believe this uprising is finished,” he said carefully, lowering his own voice as well, “until I hear it from First Enchanter Irving’s mouth. Is that clear?”

Eilwyn nodded, barely able to speak.

“I give you my permission to enter, but we will open the doors for you only once. I promise you, there is nobody within there to help you,” he said, exhaustion tinting his tone. “And once you pass through... we are locking the doors behind you, Eilwyn. You will have no way out. And if Irving has fallen, may the Maker have mercy on you all."

“I will find him, and the others, abominations or demons be damned,” she answered with a ferocity that surprised even herself. She paused a beat, then nodded her confirmation. “Th-thank you, Knight-Commander.”

“Don’t thank me,” Greagoir replied, sounding tired. “This never should have happened to begin with.”

_If I was here… and not with the Wardens… would I have been able to prevent this in any way?_

Eilwyn shook her head, and out of the corner of her eye she saw Sten speaking with the quartermaster. Morrigan was standing by the door, an expression on her face that said she absolutely wanted to leave. Alistair was speaking in hushed tones to other Templars, his hand on their shoulders, his expression resolute and supportive. Leliana was pacing back and forth, running her hands along the cool stone wall as she waited for Eilwyn to make her decision. At her hip, McWhistle whined before dropping his heavy skull against her thigh. She reached down absently and scratched at his ears.

Even when surrounded by friends, Eilwyn wondered if this was a mistake. If those more powerful than she had fallen, how could she hope to break through and save them all?

_That is exactly the thought that keeps Greagoir tied here, in the entryway, waiting for innocents to burn._

“This is not your fault, Knight-Commander,” she said grimly, her decision made. "You did what you could, and I'll take it from here."

He said nothing, merely gestured to the doorway leading to the second floor. But Eilwyn could tell that he did not believe her.

* * *

Death clung to the air. It was a massacre, an absolute massacre. She had seen darkspawn attacks, had remembered the gristle and guts from the battle at Ostagar, but this was different. When she came upon a merchant caravan ravaged by genlocks, there was brutality in it, but it was the kind of bestial violence that touched at predator-prey instinct. At least, according to Morrigan, when Eilwyn had asked her how she could fight without mourning. It was mindless. Driven by instinct, even when it was at its most gorey. And even though it terrified Eilwyn to the bone, she had the ability to anticipate them and sense them because of the taint running through her blood. That reassured her, in a twisted way.

But this...

This was malice that she could not understand. Mages had done this. Eilwyn _herself_ had the power to become this, if she ever fell to temptation. It was like a mirror held up to an unfamiliar, melting mess of skin and being told that it was your face; it warped the mind.

Dripping from the ceiling were splatters of blood. Bodies were burnt, torn apart, dragged in circles, and smashed. Some were piled together, as if they had sought to hide and were come upon by monsters in the dark. There were children, there. Small bodies in corners, their bones visible and their torsos wrenched apart by inhuman hands.

She paused only once. Stepping inside the dormitories, seeing the bodies of the children especially, was too much. Eilwyn tottered to a corner, barely finding the wall with her hand before she doubled over and retched. At first, nothing came up, but then the smell of intestines hit her and a morbid thought wormed its way into her brain.

_I knew them._

She retched again, so hard that she took a knee. She felt hands at her cheeks, then they pulled back, and she realized that they were scraping her hair away from her face. Eilwyn couldn't thank them, whoever it was. At that moment, she doubled over, flinging herself on all fours as her stomach finally gave up its meager contents.

_Soup. Was that really all I've eaten lately?_

When her breathing had slowed, when she had spit into the puddle she'd made and swiped a hand along her mouth, the hands at her hair released their hold on her. She turned. A gloved silverite gauntlet.

_Andraste's arse, could it not have been someone else?_

Eilwyn took Alistair's hand and he helped her to her feet. Without a word, he passed her a full waterskin and she drank from it greedily.

"You alright?" he asked, his voice rough.

She nodded, even though she was far from it.

"It must be hard. But you have to focus," he said. "Not on the ones lost, but the ones you are here to save."

Eilwyn nodded again, and he clapped her gently on the back before leading her back to Leliana and Morrigan.

As they walked through the dormitories, glancing around for any signs of life, Alistair broke their mutual silence.

“You know,” he said, glancing at doors to the lavatories broken down from their hinges. “As I recall from my time as a Templar, locking the doors and throwing away the key was ‘Plan B’.”

“Their Plan A being?” Morrigan asked tartly.

“To help mages in danger of possession. To thwart demonic uprisings. To protect, basically,” he answered.

“Real mages should need no such protections.”

Eilwyn frowned, feeling the stab at her core. Somehow, the idea that Morrigan wasn’t specifically targeting her, that Morrigan was speaking of every Circle mage _except_ Eilwyn, made it hurt all the worse.

“And how would one become powerful enough not to need them, hmm? Ever think about that?” Alistair asked.

“I have no need to justify my opinions to you or anyone.”

“Mages need a place to learn, to hone their talents safely,” Alistair said firmly. “That’s why there are Circles. Regardless of your opinion, they are necessary.”

“Right. Mages have done so well in them, how could I have even questioned the logic? Look at what all of their studies and systems have garnered them,” Morrigan replied caustically, picking up a book binding from the floor. Its pages had been torn out and scattered, some stuck to the ceiling and walls with blood and viscera. “So useful to willingly be herded like cattle to the slaughter. So noble to allow such shackles to be placed around their wrists.”

“It’s not like that,” Eilwyn muttered, but she didn’t have much force behind her words. At this moment, cattle was exactly what she felt like, and she had no energy to fight Morrigan on this. Not when she knew she was gearing up to fight something much, much worse.

_Would I have fought to protect the innocents, had I stayed in the Circle? Or would I have died running, like so many of my brothers and sisters did?_

They pushed on, up until they heard children’s screams.

A demon, in real life. In her tower. Hands dripping lava, pouring heat into the air, clawing towards children, young ones, barely older than when Eilwyn herself was brought to the Circle. Everything went white for a moment, and just like that, Eilwyn came back to herself.

A pile of ashes where the demon lay. But she hadn’t done anything. Could it be that the mage before her had singlehandedly reduced the demon to nothingness, just like that? She looked old, a senior enchanter in many senses of the word, so Eilwyn most likely had no opportunity to meet her during her time at the Circle. And yet there was something familiar about the woman, about the white hair pulled back into a strict bun and the gentle way she held up her staff.

"Is everyone alright?" the mage asked.

The mage turned to the children, to the apprentices, and her voice pinged inside of Eilwyn’s heart.

“Wynne?”

The elder mage turned and recognition was unmistakable on her features.

“Eilwyn. You…”

The enchantress strode over, disbelief on her features, and then wrapped Eilwyn in a quick embrace.

“I never expected to see you here, child,” Wynne whispered at her shoulder. "You came back? Why?"

“Kinloch is my home,” Eilwyn murmured. "I couldn't just leave it to burn."

Morrigan made a noise, a quick tsk behind her teeth, and the women pulled back from one another.

“Wynne was at Ostagar,” Eilwyn explained to the other companions as the older mage took Alistair’s face in both her hands. "She fought at the King's side."

Alistair bowed his head to her and she closed her eyes. Her face was a map of grief, as if she were mourning that the remaining Grey Wardens of Ferelden were both in the tower at once.

“Are you alright?” Alistair asked Wynne as she dropped her hands.

She gave a weak smile at the question, and he cleared his throat.

"Right, stupid question." He turned to the children and apprentices behind them. "How did you escape?"

There was a steady thrum of energy, a pushback from the barrier nearby, and Eilwyn swiped her sweaty tresses from her brow as Wynne explained the situation more fully than Greagoir had.

In speaking with Wynne, the picture became clearer and clearer, but Eilwyn still didn't understand its root cause. What had happened to flip the tower into such violence so suddenly? Did it even require a catalyst, or was such hatred brewing in that many mages' hearts that they would turn to blood magic and demons rather than stay in the Circle? With every word, it felt as if a bucketful of mopwater was being tossed onto her shirtfront; she felt nauseous and dirty and clammy, and powerless to do more than stand and take it.

“They have sent word to Denerim, a request for the Right of Annulment."

"Maker preserve us," Wynne murmured.

"We have to save any innocents trapped inside as quickly as possible,” Eilwyn said. “Before the Templar reinforcements get here. We have to try.”

“Are you serious?” Morrigan asked, turning to Eilwyn with disappointment written on her features.

“Are you?” Eilwyn retorted, at her limit.

“Yes! These mages chose their fate by allowing themselves to be funneled here like docile beasts. I say leave them to it! I’m a bit perturbed that you seem to want to willingly throw yourself to demons for mages who don’t even realize that they don’t have to _be_ here!”

“I’m one of them, Morrigan,” Eilwyn said, her voice rising in pitch. “You talk as if we’re the same, you and I, but I’m one of _them_. I did not choose to be here, but it was my home. I did not ask to come to Kinloch Hold, but I stayed because within these walls I found compassion and strength!”

“You really mean to do this then?”

“Yes. Everyone deserves mercy. Even cruel people like you,” Eilwyn murmured, hurt and gravity lowering her voice. The insult hung in the air between them, and Eilwyn realized that this was the very first time she'd stood up so overtly to something she and Morrigan disagreed about.

She wondered if she should be proud. It didn't feel good; it felt like she'd licked acid, and wished the words had never touched her tongue.

Morrigan made a noise from between her teeth, an expression of betrayal on her face, and with a wave of her hand the conversation was over.

“Fine,” Morrigan muttered. “Have it your way.”

“Stay here while I push on,” Eilwyn said. Morrigan turned to her with a look of pure venom, but Eilwyn carried on. “I need someone with capable, unfettered magic to protect the apprentices and children here. I trust you to do this for me.”

Morrigan mollified, her expression sliding back to neutral nothingness. She regarded Eilwyn with haughty disapproval, but she did not disagree. As she moved back to the door they’d entered from, Sten sheathed his sword.

“I will stay as well.”

“Sten-”

“Warriors will come. It is fitting they will have to face a warrior themselves,” he said simply, bowing his head a bit.

Eilwyn returned the gesture, and wondered why it felt like she was traveling to her death. Why it felt like they all were. She watched as he moved to the children shivering by the fireplace. The great Qunari squatted, rummaging in his bag for something. Eilwyn couldn't tell from where she stood, but it looked like he had a bag of cookies he had opened and was beginning to share them with the frightened children. The scene threatened to break her heart.

Before she could think more of it, she gestured to Leliana and Alistair.

“You two. With me.”

“At your service,” Alistair said, moving up as he readjusted his shield on his back. His face was set in a blank, determined stare, and when he caught Eilwyn's eyes with his, Alistair gave her a solemn nod.

She returned the gesture, wishing so much that she could reach out and hold his hand through this as she had on the boat.

Instead, she turned to her bard friend.

"You coming?"

“Yes. Right,” Leliana said. She looked far more nervous than her counterpart, and Eilwyn realized belatedly that she most likely had the least experience with such matters. She had been in the Chantry, of course, but Eilwyn herself and Alistair were more prepared for what they could find in a Circle.

“Are we ready, then?” Wynne asked, hands poised at the barrier.

Eilwyn nodded, her voice failing her but her shoulders squared and confident.

Wynne dispelled the barrier and, with McWhistle at their heels, all four of them stepped through towards the Apprentice quarters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **So meta-talk real quick sorry sorry**
> 
> When I played through DAO, Eilwyn was designed to be naive and in awe of people more powerful than her, which was... everyone, in her opinion haha. She was the most goody-two-shoes person I've ever played, and yet she and Morrigan ended up getting along swimmingly for some reason. Except when it came to the Circle. Gonna explore that more in this fic I think, here and there, tiny spots. Even if it doesn't come up again, just know that I like their dynamic a lot.
> 
> Embarrassing fact- I named Eilwyn without knowing who her companions were gonna be. I literally played this game without ANY idea what was gonna go on, I avoided all spoilers since 2009 lol. That meant I had quick a moment of "oh no there goes a nickname for my girl" when I found Wynne... haha
> 
> Also, I never really used Sten much. I had Alistair out as often as I could, because I like his fighting style, so I regret not taking cookie-loving grandad out with me more. Yes, he really does bribe Carroll with cookies if he's in your party and Leliana/Morrigan don't trigger their own methods first. If you haven't seen it, look it up, I love him haha.  
> **
> 
> Phew! We're getting up there in length eh?? I totally intended to just have this as two cuties flirting as a one-shot, just the first chapter, I swear! Who knew this fic would turn into hurt/comfort y'all? And slowburn?? And long as hell???  
> ヽ(`Д´)ﾉ︵ ┻━┻
> 
> (we... we all knew, I think...)  
> (ヘ･_･)ヘ┳━┳


	8. Mages And Templars

"Hey.”

“What is it?” Eilwyn paused, stopping her shuffling through a bookshelf at Alistair’s breathy whisper. She looked over in his direction, unable to do more than that. If she looked into his eyes, she knew that she would break down further.

Almost at the stairwell of the fourth floor of the tower, Eilwyn had had to excuse herself. They had come upon one of the libraries and, as Wynne took a break, Eilwyn had snuck into a corner. She couldn't be seen, her trembling hands lit with baubles of glowing light were her shame to bear alone. Her shaky, uneven breaths were out of earshot of the group, and she could support herself by leaning hard onto the cedar shelving in the shadows the candlelight didn't reach.

_I know their eyes. I'm certain of it, I knew who they were._

She told herself at first that she was taking just a breather, but it had turned into more. She'd been back here, hidden for a while. It made sense Alistair had sought her out. A part of her, a small part beneath her fear and grief an anguish, felt a flutter of excitement that he cared enough to do so. But the majority of her nerves were focused on the corpses just outside the door.

_What other horrors await me? Can I push through?_

Alistair was not speaking. It was as if he was waiting for Eilwyn to turn fully towards him. When she did not, he cleared his throat.

"Are you feeling any better?" he asked.

"Mmm," Eilwyn's cheeks warmed slightly at the memory of her outburst.

When they were faced with a group of Templars, she had let out a scream and frantically exhausted all of her mana in a series of violent attacks. Then, instinct having ebbed, she had sunk to her knees before crawling to each of them in turn, and removing their helmets one by one.

None of them had been Cullen. All of them had been young.

"It was a moment of weakness," she murmured. "I'll be better about keeping it under control."

"You don't have to say that," Alistair said. "It's not weak to care about people. You know that."

"Did you have something to tell me, Alistair?" Eilwyn cut off the potential lecture. She didn't know if she had the stomach to sit through it without feeling more guilt, without feeling her feelings so much that they incapacitated her.

Alistair seemed shocked, and he tried to recover with a look of optimistic determination on his face.

“I just wanted to say,” he said carefully, “that… I’m here… and that you’re…here as well, obviously.”

Eilwyn glanced further over her shoulder, surprised, and Alistair’s breathing hitched.

“That’s not to say, um. Where was I again?”

“You’re here,” Eilwyn said flatly, confused. "And I am also here."

“Right. I just…” Alistair bit his lip, then took in a long, deep breath. On the exhale, he blurted, “I don't know if it helps, or if you need me to leave you alone, but I want _you_ to know that I understand what you're going through. And you don't have to hide from it, if you don't want to.”

“You... understand?” Eilwyn whirled, keeping her voice a low hiss so that Wynne and Leliana wouldn’t overhear.They were far enough away that Eilwyn couldn't even see them past the jut of the bookshelf at a right angle to the wall. Had it been moved so that someone could try to hide? The mere thought made her clench her jaw harder.

“I mean, maybe. At least, I think I do,” Alistair muttered, looking as if he very much wanted to take a step back. He stood his ground, however, his hands on his hips as he shifted his weight.

“Really? You understand what it’s like to come home and see everything you knew, from when you were a little girl, coated in the blood of your friends? The people who surrounded you, who you never realized you would never see again, just gone in an instant? Just cut down? Even children?” Eilwyn’s voice was a vehement whisper, plowing forward with more and more velocity. “I said goodbye and thought I could come back, I could always come back after this was done and they would be here, and maybe after they saw how good I’d become then things would change…”

_Oh no._

Her voice caught, and Eilwyn could feel her lip trembling.

_Please don't cry. Not in front of him, not anymore._

She closed her eyes and sniffed her, shaking her head as if reinforcing in her own mind that she was not. Going. To. Cry.

When her breathing slowed, she opened her eyes once more and realized that Alistair wasn't saying anything. He was looking down at his hands, clasping them in front of his breastplate, looking very much like he was questioning having brought anything up. His face was distraught, stressed, and in that moment’s pause, Eilwyn realized that she was an idiot.

_Ostagar._

She had forgotten, had forgotten almost everything except the part of her that belonged to the Circle. She had pushed out the Joining, the battle, the time she'd been away. Being back in these stone walls had her feeling as if she had been here only yesterday. And it had blinded her.

The way he had seen their fellow Wardens being descended upon, the way Alistair had watched through the window even as darkspawn began to claw into the room and as the flames flared high to alert Loghain. She remembered the way he had screamed, the embodiment of fury and anguish that he became in that one moment, before casting himself at the ogre that she could not have held off on her own. He had channeled everything he'd had, all that hurt, and had protected her as best he could.

He did understand. He’d watched his people fall, had been unable to keep them from being torn apart. He had never gotten to say goodbye to Duncan, and even though it was hardly the same love Eilwyn thought she had once for her fellow mages, it was love all the same wasn’t it?

Eilwyn felt all the air rush out of her lungs at once, and she placed both palms on Alistair’s chest. He glanced up in time for her to catch his pained gaze, before the expression was replaced with concern.

_Concern for me?_

“Eilwyn?"

She gasped at her name, feeling as if her breaths were too fast, too shallow.

_Idiot._

"I'm so sorry, Alistair. F-forgive me, I-"

"No, no, what's to forgive? Nothing! Nothing's wrong-"

_Cruel idiot._

“You do understand, Alistair.”

The way she said his name, soft and keening, seemed to trigger something within him. He moved forward, closing the distance between them, and she half-expected him to drag her into a kiss. In that moment, Eilwyn suddenly wanted nothing more. Where had it come from? This rush of desire in the wake of grief? Was this normal?

But instead of kissing her, he set his helmet and shield down at his feet. With confidence and very little grace, Alistair reached up to smooth Eilwyn's hair out of her face with both hands, kind of smooshing her face clumsily in the process.

“Wha-what are you doing?” she sputtered past his fingertips.

“How can you see where you’re casting when your hair is all in your eyes like this?” he asked. “No wonder you missed me with that last buff spell."

"Hey!"

"Let’s see what we can do about it, yeah? Hold still, now.”

His eyes were glimmering and wet, tears barely contained, and Eilwyn could only obey him as he fussed over her. He was distracting them both, to be sure, but he also did have a point. She'd become disheveled, worn down, and her vision was partially obscured. Relaxing back with one hand on the bookshelf behind her for support, Eilwyn let him worry over it. When his gauntlets proved too unwieldy for hair-styling, he unbuckled them with just a few flicks and pulled his fingers and forearms free.

“Oh, don't,” Eilwyn whispered halfheartedly.

But her words were lost as Alistair smoothed his fingertips across her forehead, gathering her tresses from her face and pulling them to the side with one swoop.

"Tha-that's dangerous," she protested. "To have them off."

Eilwyn grit her teeth against a moan that threatened to escape at the touch. His fingers were rough but warm, and she could smell the oil he used on his leathers to keep them supple. A floral something or other he'd picked up way back in Lothering. It was soft, subliminal, and incredibly sexy. Her eyes fluttered closed, even though she wanted nothing more than to keep watching him move closer and closer into her personal space.

Alistair, however, seemed oblivious to her reaction.

“Don’t worry," he tutted. "We took care of the possessed Templars for the moment. We won’t be crept up on, and if we are, I can wield a longsword without gloves.”

Eilwyn chuckled weakly. She hadn’t meant it like that. She’d meant it was dangerous, skin against skin, because she was so breakable in this moment and she didn't know if she could control her basest desires any longer.

Mortification, desolation, and the adrenaline from the fights seemed to be spurring her hormones into overdrive. One moment she was chilled and walled off to all affection, and the next Eilwyn was fully prepared to drag Alistair’s mouth to her own. It was confusing, felt too warm, and made her a bit sick to her stomach.

“Do you have anything to pin or tie with?” he asked, twisting a little braid back behind her ear.

For a moment, his hand lingered there. His knuckles rested against her pulse, just along her neck, and Eilwyn swallowed automatically before she remembered herself. Her elbow bumping a bit into the bookshelf behind her, she nodded and raised her fingers to her sloppily braided hair behind her.

With only a little bit of difficulty about the tangles, Eilwyn pulled pins from the underside of her locks from by the nape of her neck.

"You don't need those?"

"No," she said, shaking her head as she kept them between her teeth. "The hair by my face gets more in the way."

After she'd pulled four out, after her neck was covered once more with her curls, she transferred them one by one to Alistair's hand. He would open them with his teeth, and Eilwyn had the absurd thought that it was almost intimate. His mouth where her mouth had just been. She burned with the indecency of it, and yet she couldn't turn away.

Seemingly unaware, Alistair began to pull her hair backwards away from her face. As he did so, he came dangerously close to pressing her back into the bookshelf, his strong arms protective on either side of her face. At one point, he caught her chin and tilted her head to the side, his touch gentle but demanding. Eilwyn closed her eyes, breathing in the heady scent of sweat, flowers, and earth that clung to Alistair’s neck, and wished she were braver.

“There we are,” Alistair said with finality, his tone somehow cheery. “Good as new.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He paused, picking up his gauntlets to pull them back on, but then he stopped. “Do you need anything else from me?”

Eilwyn thought about it for a moment, then reached out to help slip Alistair’s gauntlets over his forearms instead of answering. He seemed a bit surprised at the gesture. Nevertheless, he held out his hand by her ribs, his fingers grazing her side as she buckled up the straps along his wrist and elbow.

“I had a friend here,” she said softly. “A Templar…” Eilwyn said carefully. Her fingers gave a little insistent gesture for Alistair to give her his other arm. When he did, she continued. “He might still be alive. I don’t know."

"You were looking for him before, then?"

She nodded.

"Maybe you could be on the lookout for him as well. That could help me.”

“Of course. But... _you_ were friends with a Templar?” Alistair asked, sounding impressed. As if he thought she didn't have it in her.

Eilwyn felt her cheeks reddening. She lowered her head, seeking to hide the blush, but her hair was pinned away from her face. There was no doubt about her reaction. She felt Alistair’s hand twitch reflexively against her side as he inhaled sharply.

“Oh. That kind of friend, eh?”

“No,” Eilwyn whispered. “I was young, and stupid, and-”

“Did he hurt you?” Alistair asked.

As she buckled the last fastening on his gauntlet, Alistair's hand swiveled so that he could rest his palm on her waist.

"Eilwyn."

_Andraste preserve me, I can’t get enough of his touch, and he doesn't even know._

"You are a very poor secret-keeper, miss," Alistair said, his voice playful in tone but still firm. "I can see your lips twitching."

_He's looking at my lips?!_

Eilwyn gave an overemphasized sigh.

“He never touched me,” she said with a reproachful laugh. “But he rejected me.”

“Ah." Alistair paused, his eyes narrowing as he grinned. "So he’s an idiot. That's good to know.”

“Oh no,” Eilwyn giggled, stammering quietly at the strange compliment. “I was the idiot. It never would have worked, he was right. Templars and mages can’t… shouldn’t…”

_I mistook everything, every phrase, every glance he held too long as something more. He was doing it to keep the magelet happy, I know that now. To make sure my feelings weren't hurt, because when mages' feelings are hurt... things like this happen._

“Do you really feel that way?” Alistair asked, his voice no more than a breath. For a minute, Eilwyn wasn't sure what he was asking, and her confusion must have showed. Alistair explained himself further. "That we- mages and Templars shouldn't get involved with one another?"

"The Chantry prohibits-"

"The Chantry's not here," Alistair stated, interrupting her.

Eilwyn's jaw dropped. The question felt more heavy than it had a moment ago. Worth more, and fragile should she say the wrong thing.

Everything Alistair made her feel, all the stolen moments alone, all the laughter and the joking and the comfort made her want to never be without him. Was that normal? To feel that way for a Templar, even if he wasn't truly a Templar by vows?

_I treated him like one anyway, in the beginning._

At first, she had instinctively put on as noble, as polite an air as possible. She'd felt locked into her own body around him, as if she couldn't be herself, not truly. She worried that if she showed overt enthusiasm or frustration, that he would be afraid. Or worse, that he would lose respect for her and regret following her all this way. He was a Templar first, after all, and she a mage.

That is, until Ostagar had shifted their priorities. Until Alistair had corrected her, told her that magic did not define her. They were all each other had, and they were Grey Wardens above whatever life they had before. Over time, she had relaxed, and she realized Alistair didn't care about such things. She felt like... he might truly like her for who she was. Even if that was wishful thinking, it was a sweet thought all the same.

_If it meant being with you, I wouldn't mind._

Unable to say what she thought, not now when the grief of her home weighed heavy on her heart, Eilwyn glanced up at the ceiling to keep the tears in her eyes from falling. Too many feelings tried to escape through her tear ducts. She was overrun with sadness, but also with a light solace that was completely new. She wanted to mourn for her fallen brethren, but she also wanted to embrace the ones she’d found so far.

She was caught. All at once, she was both back in the Circle that shaped her and still surrounded by friends who knew her more fully than her fellow apprentices had. It was a hard truth to be faced with, to realize that she had spent a good part of her life hiding her true self.

Tears spilled out despite her best efforts, and she sniffed thickly as she crossed her arms over her chest.

“Hey,” Alistair whispered. “Hey, don’t. I was wrong to ask you that at a time like this. I'm sorry.”

Eilwyn glanced down at him in shock. He thought she was crying because of the question about Templars and mages? Instead of saying anything, Eilwyn hugged her arms tighter about herself and tried to slow her breathing.

"No, it's... I don't think it should matter," Eilwyn whispered.

As she looked up at him, for a moment she thought that yes, she could be with Alistair. She could trust him. And to him, maybe it didn't matter either.

But then, she'd felt that way about Cullen as well, and look where that ended up. She'd misinterpreted every touch as being something more. Who was to say it wasn't what she was doing here and now? Was she so lonely that anything close to friendship reminded her of romance? The thought alone was pathetic enough to send another tear rolling down Eilwyn's cheek.

Alistair reached out, catching her shoulders in his big hands as easily as if they touched every day. It sent a thrill through Eilwyn’s entire being, from her scalp all the way down to her toes. He smoothed his palms gently over her forearms, seeking to relax her posture, and then gave a little laugh.

“C'mon, fearless leader. Don’t make me lose the hand game to you again, I swear I’ll do it!”

She gave a helpless laugh, one that sent an undignified burst of spittle from her lips out towards his chest. Embarrassed, she reached out to try to hide it, to place her palm over the fleck on Alistair’s plate, and the moment changed as it so often did with him.

He drew her further forward, possibly mistaking the way she covered his sternum with her hands for something else. And yet, Eilwyn didn’t pull away. She leaned into it so naturally when Alistair moved his hands from her biceps to her back that she didn’t even realize that she was being held at first. But then her arms found their way underneath of his arms and about his waist. His head turned, his cheek resting on her shoulder as he leaned forward to close the distance between them. Hidden from the others by the shadows and the books, Eilwyn stood on her tiptoes and she clung to Alistair tight as he gave her a good, long squeeze.

After a moment, he pulled away, and they both sighed as if greatly relieved.

“Better, right?” he asked, his tone polite and hopeful.

Eilwyn nodded.

“You need anything else?”

She paused, then shook her head.

“Ready to face more demons?”

She pouted, but then forced herself to nod.

“How about more Templars?” he posited.

Eilwyn winced, making a little grimace, then gave a shrug and a nod.

Alistair narrowed his eyes.

“Are you going to answer me only in nods and head shakes from now on?” he asked, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

Eilwyn tried to suppress her own smile by biting her lower lip, but it was not working.

“See here, how will we get our orders from you? Through a series of complicated hand gestures?”

Eilwyn narrowed her eyes, fully smiling now, wickedness written plainly on her face. She quirked her eyebrow up, as if to say  _ser I am a lady._

“Ah, you dirty thing, I know what hand gesture you’re contemplating. Go on. Tell me I’m wrong.” Before she could reply, Alistair continued with his jibes, moving closer to her as he teased. “Tsk tsk tsk! Whatever could have happened to force you into such a stupor? Did my witty retorts cause you to rethink speaking aloud?”

Alistair reached out to give her a few gentle pinches at her waist, right above her hip, right where he knew she was ticklish.

Eilwyn held back a giddy noise, trying to look unfazed as he prodded at her.

“Or is it that you’re finally taking a vow of Silence? Oh, Leliana will be so pleased when I tell her the good news! Eilwyn the Silent at last! No more nightmare moans when she dreams of darkspawn in lingerie!”

Eilwyn gave up and let out a throaty laugh, swatting away his hands before he could do his worst. When he reached out as if he was going to pinch her again despite her protests, she leaned up onto her tiptoes and gave him a quick peck on the cheek.

It was a clumsy, rough little kiss, but it stopped him in his tracks. She hadn’t been able to jump quite high enough, had caught his cheek closer to his jaw a bit harder than she’d meant to, but the effect was worth the slight sting in the tip of her nose from where they’d collided. For a brief second, Eilwyn couldn't say why she'd done it. Maybe to prove to herself that he wasn't Cullen, that he wouldn't run at the first sign of her interest in him. That Alistair was different, and that it was okay.

It was Alistair’s turn to be speechless. His cheeks reddened, one hand coming up to wipe away his smile, and then Alistair gave a weak scoff.

“You know, that’s cheating, Warden Amell.”

“Is it?”

“Yes. You can't do such things in a tickle fight."

"Such things as kisses?"

Alistair's eyes darkened, and he took his lower lip between his teeth before answering.

"Kissing cheeks is off limits, yes.”

Eilwyn raised an eyebrow, and before she realized what she was doing, her gaze dropped to his lips. She left them there, lingering a bit, then glanced up at him through her lashes once more.

“So you’re trying to get me to kiss you somewhere else, is that it?”

“Ah, ha, n-nobody said anything about that” Alistair grinned sheepishly. “Damn. You’re good at calling my bluffs, aren’t you?”

“I guess I know you well enough by now,” Eilwyn agreed, breaking into a wide, catlike smile of her own. “I’m sorry for the cheat. I’ll behave.”

“I suppose it’s worth my discomfort and humiliation if you’re feeling better,” he said blithely, and Eilwyn frowned.

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“No, no no, not like that,” Alistair said quickly, his words rapid fire. “It’s just, you know.” He was very red in the face now. “You, pretty girl. Me, big fool no words good.”

Eilwyn laughed again, her heart lighter than it had been since they stepped into the Circle tower.

_He really is different, isn't he? And if he can move through his grief and protect me, then I can do the same for him._

Her mind made up, Eilwyn hung back against the bookcase while Alistair moved over to their other companions. She slid down out of the shadows so that she could see everyone a little better. Leliana had been checking her arrows, her quiver set between her and Wynne on an overturned shelf. Wynne was leafing through the pages of a book, as if checking to see if it had all of the chapters before taking it with her.

“We should get a move on, right?" Alistair called. "Wynne, how are you feeling?”

“Fine.” The mage looked between Alistair and Eilwyn, her eyes flinting almost imperceptibly. “Is something wrong?”

“Nope, nothing’s wrong,” Alistair stated, his volume too loud to be convincing.

“You are very pink,” Leliana stated plainly.

“It’s warm in here, and I fought a rage demon, like, just a few minutes ago,” Alistair said, placing a hand on his hip as he adjusted his shield on his back.

“That was an hour ago. At least.”

“Well, I…” He cleared his throat. “This room is warm. Don’t you think? Too warm, in fact, which is not a good sign. So we should go, move on to the next one, to a cooler room. Yes.”

He turned back to Eilwyn, but could not keep her gaze for very long without bursting into a grin. To be fair, neither could she. She felt like it was inappropriate, given the blood and sadness surrounding her, but maybe that was the point. Maybe taking a moment to recoup with people who knew how to make you smile despite horrors was how Wardens got through horrors in the first place.

McWhistle bounded over to Alistair as he continued stuttering. When he pressed his gigantic mabari forehead into Alistair’s thigh, the warrior was sufficiently distracted. He knelt and began to squish the wardog’s face, shoving it back and forth in loving caresses as the mabari’s tail stump wiggled in happiness on the stone floor.

“Who’s a good boy? Yes you are, you ate up all those nasty Templars, didn’t you? Didn’t you?”

“Should you be encouraging that?” Leliana laughed. “After all, were you not a Templar?”

“Almost. Never took my vows.” Alistair looked up from where McWhistle was busy scratching the stone floor as if he could dig through it. “He’s a smart enough dog to recognize the difference.”

Eilwyn smiled at her companions as they relaxed for a moment. When Alistair turned his attention back to the mabari, Leliana looked up and mouthed something to her. It was something that looked like _are you okay_ , and Eilwyn nodded back in response. Leliana seemed relieved, and pleased. She stood, helping Wynne to her feet.

“We’re on the fourth floor, right?” Eilwyn piped up. “Not much left beyond that, besides the Harrowing chamber. We’re going to get to the bottom of this, we are nearing the end.”

“We’re going to get to the top of this, you mean,” Alistair teased. “Seeing as it’s a tower.”

“Well, when we finish and climb back down,” Leliana countered, “it will be getting to the bottom of this as well, no?”

“I…” Alistair reached out and gave Leliana a fond pat on her shoulder. “You’re absolutely right.”

As they tried to joke quietly past the shared horror of where they found themselves, Eilwyn placed her hand on Wynne’s shoulder. The eldger mage reached up and held it in her own, squeezing with a strength that surprised Eilwyn.

_She must be terrified._

“I’m glad you’re here, Wynne,” Eilwyn whispered.

“I am, too, child,” she answered, sounding wistful. As if she did not believe, for half a moment, that she really was.

“When we finish here, I look forward to taking a bath,” Leliana said, drawing their attention back to the group. “Ooh, someone check something for me. Did a chunk of my hair get burnt off, in the back there? It feels itchy. Eilwyn, Alistair?”

“No singe spots that I can tell,” he said. “Once we make sure everyone’s safe and well-accounted for, I’m going to see if Sten will share some of those cookies with me. That is the first thing on my to-do list.”

Alistair paused, then whirled towards Leliana.

“You don’t think he gave them all away to those children, do you?”

Leliana pursed her lips and raised an eyebrow, then gave the most unhelpful, mockingly ignorant shrug possible. Alistair gave her a coltish scowl and turned back to Wynne.

“How about you, Wynne?” he asked. “When we’ve helped the survivors, when we’ve found Irving, what will you do?”

“Oh, settle into a bath with a good book and a glass of wine, maybe?” Wynne said with a chuckle. “If we are being fanciful, that is. Realistically, there will be much work to be done in the wake of such a tragedy, I doubt I’d find the time.”

“Still. It sounds lovely,” Eilwyn agreed.

“Would you want a wine and book-bath too, then?” Alistair asked Eilwyn, hanging back a bit as they made their way to the large landing that would take them to the Harrowing chamber floor.

“I've never tried wine before,” Eilwyn confessed. “That could be fun.”

“Oh, that’s right,” Alistair said, drawing out the syllables as if he should have remembered. “You never got a chance to try to drink other Wardens under the table!”

“Nope, ‘fraid not. If only Circles had taverns built into them, it could’ve been different.”

Wynne gave a little simper, as if she and Eilwyn shared a joke, and Eilwyn grinned in turn.

“Maybe after this is over, at camp, we could…” Alistair stopped, gave a little laugh, then met her gaze once more. “We could drink until we forget this nightmare ever happened.”

“Is that what Grey Wardens do after a battle?” she asked.

“Sometimes! I mean, it can be,” Alistair replied, his voice eager. “If you want it to be.”

“With you all?” She squared her shoulders and faced him with a mischievous grin. “Yes. I’d like that very much.”

He flushed bright pink, but then seemed to regain his playful bravado.

“Alright, but be warned,” he said conspiratorially. “I am absolutely putting money on you tapping out first, magelet.”

“Excuse me,” she laughed, “despite my stature, I am not a lighweight.”

“How do you know, you’ve never drank!”

“Be… cause I know these things,” Eilwyn stammered, not having thought it through. She shifted, trying not to blush. “Why don’t you pick on Leliana for a change? She’s even thinner than I am, if anyone’s a lightweight, it’s her!”

“Leliana can hold her own, I’m sure,” Alistair said, clapping a hand to the redhead’s shoulder in brusque comraderie. Leliana flinched, but then smiled through it, as if just glad to be included in the joke.

“I was a minstrel at one time in Orlais. I do not think my tolerance is slight, but I have never truly tested my limits.”

“Wynne,” Alistair said regally, “you’ll be the judge.”

“Excuse me, young man,” Wynne answered. “But if I am around for this inevitably raucous celebration, I fully intend to participate.”

“Oh, ho!” Alistair clapped. “Yes. A right good roster we have, perfect. Now all we have to do is make it through the rest of this bloody mess of a tower, carry our darling First Enchanter over the threshold downstairs, and then I’ll be either very rich or very drunk. Either way is a win-win!”

“I’m going to bet you tap out first, for all your blustering,” Eilwyn said, laughing as they strode through the door, towards the stairwell.

She felt it in her tongue, at first, strangely enough. A thickness, a fatigue.

“Um,” Eilwyn cleared her throat, then turned to her companions.

“Eilwyn,” Leliana murmured, sounding fearful.

Wynne stepped forward, pulling Leliana behind her, and readied her staff at the hulking, molting figure before them.

“Oh look,” it drawled. “Visitors.”

“What in the Maker’s name,” Alistair whispered, but the rest of his words were cut off with the beginning of a yawn.

“I’d entertain you but…” the creature before them yawned. “Too much effort involved.”

Eilwyn could feel her limbs wanting to stay immobile, could feel a haziness over her senses. At the creature’s feet however, was a man. Curled up, as if he were sleeping.

“Niall?” she called tentatively. “Niall, is that you?”

There was no answer beyond the exhausting groans of her companions and the chuckle of the demon before her.

"Eilwyn, do not engage it," Wynne tried to shout, but Eilwyn was already speaking over her.

“What did you do to him!” she demanded, clutching her staff for support.

“He’s just resting,” the demon murmured. “Poor lad. He was so very, very weary. You want to join us, don’t you? Wouldn’t you like to just lay down, forget about all this? Leave it all behind.”

Eilwyn took a deep breath, the tip of her nose and cheeks growing fuzzy. She’d felt this way only once before, when another apprentice had dared her to hold her breath for as long as she could. It had been a game, then, a scary game seeing if you could force yourself to black out for a moment if someone picked you up and the blood rushed away from your head. It was different from passing out due to pain, from passing out from a knock to the head. This was lazy, slow, a deprivation that sent you into a slumber. That's why it had been just a stupid game.

But it wasn't one now.

“I’ll not listen to your lies, demon,” Leliana said sleepily. Her words came slower, like molasses from a cold jug. “You have… no… power over me.”

“Resist!” Wynne bit out. Eilwyn turned, wondering absently if she was talking to herself or ordering everyone. Leliana fell behind her, crumpling into a soft heap, her arrows falling from her quiver. “You must resist,” Wynne said, “else we are all lost.”

She fell, too, and Eilwyn turned to Alistair.

“Resist it, she says,” Eilwyn repeated, the thickness on her tongue spreading along her neck, to her chest. Oh Maker, to sleep would actually be so nice.

_No! Remember why you’re here! Remember your Harrowing!_

"This isn't right," he murmured, so quiet she almost didn't catch it.

“Alistair,” she called, taking a heavy step towards him. “Don’t succumb. I need you to-”

“Can’t…” he bit out. “Keep eyes open… someone… pinch me…”

He fell to his knees, then curled on his side. He let out a contented little sigh, a rush of air that sounded so inviting, so good, she could lay down and experience it too-

_Resist! What good was your Harrowing if you can't resist this?_

“Why do you fight?” the demon cooed, its voice thick and viscuous. “You deserve more… you deserve a rest. The world will go on without you.”

_Pathetic. I'm pathetic._

Eilwyn gave a cry, and the last of her energy was sapped from her. She took a knee on the floor, and cast out her arm against the stone so that she would hopefully cushion her fall, and then all went black. Her last thought echoed in the darkness as she fell into forced slumber, a memory of another time, of another conversation somewhere far from Kinloch Hold. A voice that wasn't her own, reassuring her in a non sequitur even as she fell in a heap to the floor.

_"No. You're Eilwyn first."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay but like, re-reading this chapter, I can't help but hear the ["pssst" // "what"](https://youtu.be/ET0TiAw0vIo) vine in my head with that first line haha. I'm not re-writing it, because now I headcanon that Eilwyn wakes up with bedhead like that, especially after Alistair 'helps' her braid it back XD


	9. Old Wounds, New Desires

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I take some liberties with the Fade dream sequence here, hope y'all don't mind~

It was warmer than she remembered. Eilwyn felt a bit dizzy, like she was supposed to be doing something else but had forgotten it in lieu of this. She was kneeling in the dirt, her dress expertly laid out so that the bell of her skirt surrounded her and made her appear legless. There were dragonflies around her, and a cross-stitched canvas lay across her lap. It was a little thing, she had to make a banner for something. She remembered now.

It was for her brother. His nameday. Everyone was coming, it was going to be a celebration not only of her brother’s coming of age. He would be competing in the upcoming Grand Tourney, and yes that was crucial and important but it was not why her family was truly gathering. Beyond that, it was also a celebration of Eilwyn’s homecoming.

Just the thought had her heart clenching in knots. She stared down at her fingers, at the scars there. The Blight had ended painfully, abruptly, and for the first time in years she could not sense the clawing background in her thoughts that signaled darkspawn were near. She had felled the Archdemon herself. After a long, bloody battle, she’d taken a sword from the ground and jumped into the air and then dragged the blade from its throat to its belly.

And then finally, after decades in the Circle and then two more long years fighting darkspawn, Eilwyn had finally gotten to come home.

Eilwyn gave a great sigh, the feeling in her bones one of ease and exhaustion. She could smell daisies, freshly cut flower stems, and wildberries. She was sitting just beyond her mother’s garden, she realized. Just beyond the vine covered stone wall surrounding the garden was a beautiful walking path her father had built for them, leading into a fairy pond where she had played as a child. Eilwyn closed her eyes, remembering. She had played there by herself, her siblings preferring to go horseback riding, or play fighting. Her younger sister had been a formidable fighter, praised often for her skills as she grew.

_Aurella._

Her second youngest sibling, also a sister, had been in the kitchens more often than not, but had always been invited to play with the others. Unlike Eilwyn, this sister’s isolation was seen as charming, because it resulted in wonderful desserts for the family once everyone was done playing.

_Yngrid._

Her youngest, the one they were celebrating today, had been the kindest to her before she’d left. He’d been but a baby. But when she’d snuck to his pram, made little dancing fairy lights above the pond for him to reach his fat baby fingers after as they skitted above the water, Eilwyn had known. She’d known her brother had loved her, even then. She glanced down at the name she was stitching into the banner with violets and marigolds, the threads hanging loose about her knees in the grass.

_Matthias._

She narrowed her eyes. Something was off, a bit, about the corner of the banner. She must have pricked her finger, because there were spots and stains that looked like blood. Dark, dried, long since bled from her digit. Eilwyn looked at her hands in alarm, searching for the spot that should hurt, but there was nothing. Just the scars from battles months past.

Yet something tickled at her brain. Just as the sense of the darkspawn had tickled, some instinct told her to keep looking. Keep digging. Something was not right. She lifted the corner of the cloth that was stained with bloody drippings and found what she was looking for.

Beneath the banner was a small dagger. Just like the one she carried on her belt, like the one she had used to slash at foes who came too close when she was trying to cast from afar. It was sticky still, getting its viscera all over the edge of the banner, as if she’d been cleaning her weapon with the gift to her brother. But had she fought something on her ride over? How would the blood be so fresh otherwise? Disgusted, Eilwyn felt her heartbeat double in anxiety.

Something was not right.

She glanced around the field, raising a bit on her knees to better take in her surroundings. To her left, garden wall and house, the sprawling estate large and taking up most of her vision if she turned south. Opposite that, the fields. A tree with a swing, had that always been there? Eilwyn blinked, and for a moment, she saw a tree fallen in the Korcari Wilds, men hanging from it and dangling in the wind as she searched for darkspawn blood.

A man’s voice at her side. Someone she admired.

 _“Poor bastards._ ”

Alistair’s voice.

Alistair.

Eilwyn’s heart clenched. Where was he? The battle had finished, and the Blight had ended, but had he come with her to visit her family home? She would not have left him behind, she knew that, she knew with a stark finality that she cared too much about him to just part ways after everything they'd been through.

So why, then, could she not remember where he was?

She tried to think back, to how she got to where she was, but there was no clear memory. She had walked out here with the banner to sit in the sunshine, but before that? Had she taken a carriage to her family home, or had she ridden on horseback?

With a sinking feeling, she realized she had no idea.

She took in the rest of her surroundings as her heart leaped into her throat. The sky was no longer blue, it was hazy. Yellowed. Like the tobaccoed fingernails of an older relative. It made Eilwyn feel exposed, sitting out in the open, as if a storm were on the horizon approaching way too fast to escape. The grass suddenly smelled less of wildflowers, and more of lyrium. An absurd thought, since her family was so staunchly against magic and all of its forms.

That’s right.

They were.

_"You are a mage first."_

Her family had sent her away. Her family wouldn’t ask her back, not even if-

“Ell, darling,” a voice called from the garden, startling her out of her panic.

The stone wall had a double door made of dark cherrywood, and it opened inward, revealing Eilwyn’s mother. She was dressed as she always was, in gauzy layers of white meticulously gathered and neatly ribboned.

An angel.

Eilwyn stood despite her misgivings, forgetting the banner as she slowly burst into a sprint. Her mother looked worried when she caught sight of her, but held the door open nonetheless. Eilwyn stopped right before she would enter the garden, right as the sounds of the little rocky waterfall her father had constructed within the pond could reach her ears.

“Eilwyn, heavens, a lady should not run so,” her mother said, looking older now that Eilwyn was up close. Harried. Her hair graying, a few strands out of place.

“Mother?” she whispered.

“Who else would it be?” her mother answered, in that tone that suggested she was not in a very playful mood.

“Is it… is it really you, Mother?” Eilwyn whispered.

“Yes?” the woman answered, reaching out a hand to beckon her inside. “What is it, dear? You look dreadful, all sweaty and gray. Come in, let me see if you have a fever.”

Past her mother’s shoulder, Eilwyn could see lilypads. In a rush, a memory flooded back to her, the anguish of it almost bringing her to her knees.

The verdant green surrounding her as she was pried from her mother’s legs. The rain that had been lazily falling in the garden, its fat drip drops beating out a steady rhythm on the thick leathery leaves of the plants surrounding the pathway. The flowers had bobbed as if they were being hit, and her father had gripped her so hard underneath of her arms that she’d bruised.

Eilwyn remembered the way her mother had looked, then. Pristine, and cold, and crying. She’d been weeping, as if it weren’t her choice to give her away. Yet it had not been an ugly, emotional cry as Eilwyn was so prone to giving in to. It had been regal, as if she was going to retain as much dignity as possible during such a scene. And when Eilwyn had reached out to her from the arms of the kind Templar who had taken her more gently than even her father had, Eilwyn had watched her mother’s face change to one of absolute fear.

_She had looked at me like she hated me._

Now, in the garden, Eilwyn swallowed past the lump of despair in her throat. She reached out as she had decades ago, her arms outstretched, her hands uplifted as if in prayer. Her mother paused, then gave a small laugh.

“Oh darling,” she said lightly. “Aren’t you getting a bit too old for hugs?”

The woman stepped into her arms, then held her tightly. Eilwyn breathed in deeply, shaking, fearful and focused. This woman smelled of sunflowers, the perfume heady and beautiful and so very nostalgic that Eilwyn was washed over with homesickness that threatened to drown her. But all those years ago, when she was snapping at Eilwyn to keep still as she sat her on the stool in the yard, as she hacked off her curls short above her ears… she had smelled of smoke, more than perfume.

A flash. Yngrid crying, her hair in pieces after a disagreement. Eilwyn apologizing. Matthias being ushered away as if she were going to light him ablaze, and Aurella raising a practice sword above her head as if to protect the family from her.

_From me._

Once her mother had put out the flames from the lightning Eilwyn had sent arcing about Yngrid’s head, she had grabbed Eilwyn by her wrists and yanked her to the garden. It had not been difficult to do, Eilwyn had always been tiny for her age. Even to this day, she remembered the vicelike grip her mother had had. It had left marks by the base of her thumb.

The haircut. Eilwyn remembered it truly now.

It had not been for her studies, as she had told her friends by the campfire. As she had told herself.

It had been a punishment for the sister’s hair she’d ruined. She had changed it, over the years, the recollection of the final touches that her mother had bestowed on her. She’d held onto them with a kind of optimistic stubbornness that tasted like copper under her tongue. Eilwyn had lied to herself to feel less of the pain, to take less of the responsibility.

But that was the truth of it; she had been shorn by a woman who held no love for her, the scissors moving so haphazardly that Eilwyn could still feel little raised bumps on her scalp from where they had cut too close and nicked the skin. And her mother had smelled like smoke, and had said nothing to her as she cut.

Now, holding her mother as she trembled, Eilwyn smelled no trace of fire. She smelled only sunflowers and musk, an essence her sisters probably wore now as well. Her siblings had grown older without her. And it had been for the best. She ached with regret, with the injustice of it all, with the pain of the memories she’d struggled so long to bury.

“Come now,” her mother said, trying to pull away. “Everyone wants to meet our daughter, the Grey Warden. We want to hear of your heroics in battle, darling.”

“Do you remember the day I left?” Eilwyn asked. Interrupting her mother’s proud suggestions. She held tighter, and her mother flinched in her arms.

“Come now, Eilwyn,” she struggled a bit, but Eilwyn wouldn’t let go. “Is now really the time for such things?”

“I need to know, mother.”

“I…”

She stopped moving in Eilwyn’s embrace. She gave up, grew limp. She seemed smaller now, sadder. Old, hiding her age and her mistakes and her regret with elegance and poise. Eilwyn felt pity well in her stomach. Pity, just as she had had for the Templars she’d fought in the tower.

_Resist._

“I was wrong, Eilwyn.” Her mother’s voice was strong, as if she wished to drawn Eilwyn back to the conversation and out of her thoughts. “I admit it. I was so very wrong to send you away like I did. We are so proud of how well you did in the Circle, of how strong you are now. And we are sorry.”

“One more time, please,” she whispered, closing her eyes and inhaling deeply. “I need…” Eilwyn swallowed back the urge to cry, tried to focus herself. She needed this, and she hated this, and nothing less would do.

“I’m sorry, my darling,” the woman pretending to be her mother said softly.

Eilwyn nodded.

“I am too,” she said.

Switfly, she plunged the dagger she’d taken from beneath the banner into the apparition’s back. There was a soft gurgle, and for one heartstopping moment Eilwyn worried that she had killed her actual flesh and blood.

But then the growls came. The rage, and the claws. Eilwyn pushed backwards, tumbling away from the creature just as it turned, just as the illusions fell away.

“You could have been happy here!” it cried, limping, its voice a distorted cacophony of her memories of her mother combining with the demon’s own timbre. “You stupid girl, you could have stayed here forever!”

“No,” Eilwyn said, a lightning storm building behind her and rising up higher than the garden wall as she focused her mana. “That was never an option.”

* * *

The Fade was no less unnerving being in it a second time. Her Harrowing had prepared her, helped her to look for such signs, but it was still absolutely disorienting to be here. Walking around, finding Niall, Eilwyn had gained enough of a waypoint to help her focus on her mission. She was brave, she was going to beat this demon, and she was going to save the Circle.

Well. She told herself that only after allowing herself a five minute reprieve so that she could berate herself for falling for such a cheap trick in the first place.

After that moment, she’d walked on. Her shoulders back, her pace steady, her eyes unclouded, Eilwyn had never felt simultaneously so strong and so fragile at the same time. It was strangely fulfilling, even though she was terrified. She knew that she had the potential to be utterly broken by this... but that she would choose not to be.

It was enough to sustain her for a while, that thought.

The Fade was a maze of fatigue, though, and it did begin to weigh on her after a while. It tricked her, tested her, and after a few hours of loneliness and exhaustive searching, Eilwyn sat in a corner and had to take a breather. She cast out a barrier about herself, a lyrium vein in her line of sight that she could use if she didn’t recover quickly enough, and she tried to remember once more how she’d gotten here. A little test for herself, to make sure she was still in control.

The abomination. Niall. Her fallen companions.

She knew with a dread certainty that they were in their own illusions. They were going to be struggling against their own regrets, temptations, and desires. When confronted with such sweet confirmation, with such an opportunity to have what you were never allowed… would she be able to break them free?

Eilwyn sighed, drawing her knees up to her chest.

She did not know.

* * *

She found Wynne first, small mercies be thanked. But it was not mercy Eilwyn felt upon finding her friend grieving, trapped in a cycle of emotional atonement. It was intense empathy. It was so difficult to strike past the guilt that Wynne set upon her immediately upon recognizing her.

_“Where were you when this happened!”_

She was easiest to convince, having been through a Harrowing herself. Once pointed out, the inconsistencies and warped details of the Fade were apparent enough to snap her from the dreamstate. When the ghosts of the fallen mages manifested, that one last ditch attempt from the demon to get her to succumb, was what broke Wynne completely free. She looked at Eilwyn with horror at her words, with admiration, and they fought off the apparitions together.

_“Is it over? Thank the Maker for you, Eilwyn. I didn’t- wait, where are you going?”_

But even though Eilwyn felt immeasurable satisfaction at having freed her, when Wynne faded from her sight the loneliness was also incomparable.

She pushed on, ignoring it.

* * *

Leliana was next. Eilwyn felt like she should have expected it, but the image before her was a shock.

It was tormenting to see her pious friend kneeling, rocking back and forth in prayer, so desperate for the Maker’s blessing that her heart of hearts _would_ conjure up such a place. Looking around, it was hard to see what Leliana did. There were crags and sulfuric rock where the glass panes of a Chantry should be. Once one saw past the illusions, it was so easy to see how malformed and fake they were. Like the sky in her own prison. Like the mages in Wynne’s.

Eilwyn felt a shiver run down her spine at the demon assuming the form of a Revered Mother, but what truly cut her was when Leliana did not even remember her face.

_“I’m sorry, but I do not know what you are talking about.”_

Eilwyn had explained patiently, kindly that this was not real. She had been supportive in her insistent that this was not what Leliana thought. She’d practically begged her to think back to the sign that the Maker had bestowed upon her, missing her friend and companion so very much in this moment that her arms physically hurt. She'd wanted to pull Leliana back, hug her, and fight off the demons alone.

But as soon as Leliana heard the Revered Mother discount the vision, it seemed to snap a part of her back into place. She remembered. She knew herself, knew what she was put into the world to do, and with the blaring confidence that drew Eilwyn to her, Leliana struck down the apparition herself.

And then she turned to Eilwyn with a groggy, pained look on her face.

_“Ugh. I feel as if I have just woken up from a terrible nightmare. Wait. What’s happening to me?”_

As she faded from sight, much like Wynne, Eilwyn steeled her heart. Those two were safe now, away from the entrapment. The only person she had let to find was the person who meant the most to her, and the person whose desires she most feared intruding upon.

As she touched a palm to the cool metal of the altar to take herself from the imprisoning corner, Eilwyn wondered if he would even recognize her.

The idea that he might not made her want to cry. But she held her shoulders back, inhaled deeply, and pressed onward.

* * *

She saw him. After hours upon hours of searching, resting, recouping, fighting, Eilwyn finally saw him. Alistair was talking with a woman further down the hill, the misty fog of the Fade surrounding him and making his armor seem dull.

Eilwyn kept herself from running up to him, much as she wanted to. Her heart in her throat, she approached with steady, measured steps.

_Please. Please let him remember me._

When she was close enough to catch his eye, Alistair’s face burst into a smile.

_Oh thank the bloody Maker._

“Hey,” he said, walking over and reaching for her hands with both of his. “Oh it’s so good to see you again.”

She reacted immediately, instinctively, and set her palms down so that he could squeeze them. He pulled her forward, a gentle, natural thing. When she leaned into him, Alistair pressed a loving kiss to her temple.

Shocked, Eilwyn could only stare at him as he pulled away. Her face burned with the intimacy of it, with a strange kind of jealousy. How had he done that so easily? As if it were the most easy thing in the world, to kiss her like that?

“I was just thinking about you, isn’t that a marvelous coincidence?”

“Wh…” Eilwyn shook her head. “You were thinking about me?”

“Of course I was. I’ve missed you,” he answered, looking playfully at her from the corner of his eye. “I knew you’d be back from visiting your parents within a few days, but I honestly never expected you back so soon. You could have sent word, sneaky thing. How were they? Did you show them the Archdemon trophy you took, that big talon?”

“I-”

“Oh, before you answer, where are my manners?” Alistair continued. His words were coming quickly, his excitemenet and eagerness evident. Immediately, his hand was politely at her waist, turning her to face the woman he’d been talking to. “This is my sister. Goldanna.”

The name was familiar. He’d mentioned it to her once, Eilwyn remembered. Asked if they had time to stop by Denerim to see her, and she’d told him of course, but they had yet to get around to it. The Arl, then the mages, there just had been no time.

“This is Eilwyn Amell,” Alistair said, pulling Eilwyn almost imperceptibly closer. The woman called Goldanna smiled, inclining her head.

“Alistair’s told me so much about you,” she murmured happily.

“Alistair-” Eilwyn protested, her heart overburdened with too much of this at once.

_He factored me into this. He included me in this fantasy, where he seems so happy. What does that mean?_

“All good things, to be sure,” he interrupted. “Like how you’re my fellow Grey Warden, the one who struck the killing blow on the Archdemon.”

Eilwyn was struck by the absurdity of it. In both her own vision and Alistair’s, she was the one who gave the final drag of the blade. That made no sense, made absolutely no sense. She was no warrior, she would never-

“And,” he lowered his voice slightly, “how you are my dearest friend.”

Eilwyn turned to him, shocked out of her words.

_So easy. He admits it so easily, I want... I want this._

Glancing down, she saw a chain sparkle from beneath his gorget. An amulet chain, the one she had returned to him, the one he had kissed her for as a thank you.

_No. This isn't real._

“Alistair, listen to me,” Eilwyn whispered, turning in his arms to place both hands on his cheeks. She stood on her tiptoes, trying to get him to really, truly look at her face. To look at how terrified she was.

Terrified, because she, too, felt the pull of such an illusion.

“I need you to-”

She felt something knock into her thigh, sending her off balance and against Alistair’s chest. A childlike giggle sounded out somewhere behind her, and then Alistair chuckled. He brought his arms up to Eilwyn’s back, setting her upright once more as she tried to slow her heartbeat.

"What was that?" she gasped, worried she had already been caught off guard. She readied her hand for casting, her fingers parting as she flexed the thrall of her mana about them.

“Oh, those are Goldanna's children. My nephews and nieces, can you believe it? There’s more about somewhere.” He gave a happy sigh, and then held his palm against where Eilwyn still rested hers against his cheek. “We’re one big happy family. At long last.”

Eilwyn’s heart shattered further, crumbling into pieces at having to rip this away from him. She shook her head, struggling to find the words.

“Y-you seem so happy,” she whispered, her lips trembling.

He was so close to her, smiling wistfully, emanating a calm that she had not seen since she’d known him. He looked secure and at ease and just… so very happy, as she’d said.

“I am,” he replied, dropping her hand to turn back to his sister.

To the demon posing as his sister.

“I’m happier than I’ve been my entire life,” Alistair finished, jokingly drawing it into a singsong as if he wanted to cover just how true the sentiment was. “Isn’t that strange? I thought that being a Grey Warden would make me happy, but it didn’t. This does.”

“Alistair,” Eilwyn tried again, her voice stronger now. “You met me through the Grey Wardens. You met Duncan through the Grey Wardens. You-”

“I know, and look what that got us! Pain, grief, worry,” as he spoke, he shifted his arm from her side to hanging it about her shoulder and drawing her close. “So much death.”

“It is a miracle you survived, Alistair,” Goldanna spoke up. She turned to Eilwyn with flinted eyes. “I’m overjoyed to have my little brother back. I’ll never let him out of my sight again.”

A threat. Ah. Eilwyn nodded, licking her lip, feeling as if she were being blustered against.

"Bit overprotective, aren't we?" she snapped. The woman's eyes narrowed further, her lip curling in a sneer when Alistair could not see. Eilwyn set her jaw, stubborn and determined.

_You think I can’t free him, do you? I know him better than you do._

Eilwyn turned to Alistair, lowering her voice.

“Think about this Alistair. Think carefully, about how creepy this is starting to sound. About how creepy she's acting!”

“What do you mean, creepy? There’s nothing wrong with living with your sister for a bit,” he said, giving a sarcastic little sneer. “I’ve never had a real family before. I want to feel what it’s like.”

“No, I didn’t mean-”

“Well, Alistair,” Goldanna piped up, her voice tired now. “Is your friend staying for supper?”

“Oh please stay,” Alistair turned to Eilwyn, both hands moving to her waist.

The physical contact was unbearable. She loved it, it was so fulfilling and relaxing. She felt like a cat being caressed, as if she wanted to arch into every touch and purr from the satisfaction of it. It felt so good to just be held with such confidence, when nobody had ever really dared to ever do so before at the Circle.

“Goldanna’s a wonderful cook,” Alistair insisted. “Maybe she’ll make her minced pie.” He turned to the woman, assuming a plaintive little whine as he teased. “You can, can’t you? Please?”

“Of course dear brother. Anything for you.”

“Andraste’s arse,” Eilwyn panted, “you have to realize how wrong she sounds! Look at her! Look at that smile!”

Alistair looked taken aback.

“How can you say that about my sister? She’s the soul of goodness!”

“No,” Eilwyn leaned up to catch his face once more between her palms. “Listen to me, please. Please.”

“I’m listening, I-”

“Try to remember how we got here. How did we get to Goldanna’s, when we’ve never been to Denerim? Hmm? How did you get here today, really think.”

“Fine,” he scoffed, seemingly deeply put out. “If it will make you happy.”

His hands resting on her waist, Alistair heaved a sigh.

"I remember her doorway, is that far back enough?" he teased.

"Do you think, for even one second," Eilwyn whispered, her voice desperate and low. "Do you think that if you and I were both to survive the Blight-"

His eyes narrowed at her, and she struggled to contain the well of emotion that bubbled forth just by staring into his eyes.

"Do you think I'd leave your side ever again?"

Alistair's lips fell open, his eyes searching hers, and she practically bounced on her tiptoes out of frustration.

"Think, Alistair. Do you remember me actually leaving to go to my parents? Because if I were to go, I know you'd have wanted to go with me. So please Alistair, please! Tell me what you remember."

“It’s…” his expression changed, his eyes growing dull and looking down at her collarbone as he struggled to recall. “It’s a little fuzzy, actually. Now that you mention it.”

“It is, isn’t it?” She could have laughed with relief if not for how forlorn he looked, how unbalanced. "That's good."

“It’s strange,” Alistair whispered. "I know I'm meant to be here, I know what you said, what we did, but when I try to picture it... it slips through my fingers. Like trying to remember a dream."

"Yes," Eilwyn breathed. "You're doing so well. Keep going."

“Alistair,” the woman called. “Come and have some tea.”

She reached out, placing a palm on his shoulder to pull him, but Alistair shrugged her off easily. Eilwyn could see him swallow hard, then his jaw clenched and his brow furrowed. He replaced his hands on Eilwyn's waist, and she wanted to cry.

“No. I… I remember a… a tower?”

He looked at Eilwyn square in the eye, and she nodded.

_Go on. Resist._

“Resist,” he answered, almost as if she had said it out loud. “You said that, didn't you? To me? The Circle. It was under attack. There were demons, and you were looking for someone. You were… so upset. I needed to…” Alistair shook his head, clarity flooding back into his eyes. He took a step back from her, dropping his hands in what looked like shame. “Maker. That’s all I remember.”

“I told you to resist, because the demon was putting us to sleep. Do you remember that too? I told you I needed you,” she bit out, past her shame and the burning feeling that she had seen too far into her friend’s true desires. Into his true loneliness. “That part was real, Alistair. I still do.”

“Alistair, the children want to play with their uncle. Come spend some well-earned time with your family, and tell your friend to stop being silly,” the woman said insistently. "It's borderline offensive, what she's suggesting."

“Are you saying this is a dream?” Alistair asked Eilwyn.

She turned to look at where Goldanna was fussing and gesturing to what she said were her kids. Eilwyn saw no children, saw only a fire burning brightly and the wicked, blank stare of the woman claiming to be Alistair’s sister. When she glanced back to her warrior, however, she could see that his eyes had not yet cast off the veil of illusions. He seemed confused, heartsick.

“But… it’s all so real.”

“You’re only seing what they want you to see,” Eilwyn said, reaching out to grab his hand in both of hers. His arms were limp, as if he were too shocked to move. “The Harrowing, it’s like this. The demons take what you want, what you need, and they use the Fade to make it real. In order to survive, we have to push past it, to remember what is a part of our _true_ reality. I've done it before. You can trust me.”

“How does one do that?” he asked, sounding hurt and confused. "Tell me what to do, if you know so much."

“Latch onto a strong feeling,” she insisted. She ignored the minor jab, and smiled up at her protector. "In my own illusions, my own story, I remembered you. I remembered how I felt around you, and I have too much I want to tell you to run from-"

“This is nonsense,” Goldanna said, but her voice was nervous. “Ella, you said your name was? Come tell this story to my son, he would love to meet another mage.”

Her heart skipped a beat. Of course the demons would know to play to her insecurities about mage children, about feeling alone. Of course. She couldn’t let it-

“Eilwyn,” Alistair said carefully. “Like island, except not.”

“Yes,” Eilwyn repeated in a whisper.

"She cries because she's sweet," Alistair continued, looking at her even though he was talking to his sister. "But she'll fight an ogre for me. Even if it means she loses."

“Latch onto that," Eilwyn breathed. "This isn't real. Focus on what is."

“Of course it’s real, now wash up for supper and stop telling lies where the little ones can overhear,” Goldanna interrupted quickly, her words spilling out in a frantic mess. “You’ll frighten them with such tales. Really. First, coming in without even a hello to your host, and then telling my only brother, my beloved, to doubt his place in my family. How can a guest in someone’s home act in such a manner-”

His eyes unclouded, Alistair turned and shook his head.

“Stop, Goldanna. Something doesn’t feel right.”

“I’ll say,” the woman scoffed. “You led me to believe she was a lady.”

“I’m sorry… I have to go,” Alistair said, turning to Eilwyn. “Right? We have to go, I... I don't want to be here.”

"Follow my lead, I'll get you out of here," Eilwyn promised, looking up at him with wide, genuine eyes.

Alistair faltered, opening his mouth to say something, but he was cut off by a wail.

“No,” Goldanna’s voice changed, warping with growls and screams. She shrieked into the heavens as her back arched, as she contorted. “No, you can't! You do not decide when to leave, cocky mage. He is ours! We would rather see him dead than free!”

“Golda-” Alistair’s face was a mask of horror and disappointment as she began to change and gurgle with the effort of maintaining the illusion past their disbelief. Eilwyn pulled him back, and he readied his sword as they backed themselves up against a wall. The children she’d spoken of were sprites, changing even as Eilwyn and Alistair watched with terror.

The fight was an opportunity. Using all of the pent-up frustration, Eilwyn stepped in front of Alistair and began to back Goldanna’s form against the precipice. Every spell was cast with deadly precision, every bolt pulled from the deepest veins within her mana pool, and every onslaught from the demon was repulsed with the bat of a hand. Angered by the injustice of such a beautiful illusion staining Alistair’s secret fantasy of being loved, Eilwyn struck the apparition down with haste and overzealousness that took her to her knees.

When the last cries died down, echoing into the precipice she had sent the burning demon down into, Eilwyn felt a hand on her shoulder. She took it gladly, rising to her feet with Alistair’s help. But as she stood there, catching her breath, he would not meet her gaze.

“How did I not see this earlier?” he asked, seemingly crestfallen.

"It was an illusion crafted to your desires." She shook her head. "Did you never wonder why mages fail their Harrowings? It is... so easy to fall into temptation. To rise above it requires so much of us."

"You did it by yourself," Alistair stated. "Twice."

"I had training, I knew what to recognize, what strings to follow through the maze," Eilwyn said. "Plus, this..."

_Was beautiful._

“Is Morrigan right?" Alistair whispered. "Am I... am I truly stupid?”

“No,” Eilwyn said, turning to face him even though he refused to look at her directly. She put her hand out, but he did not accept it, and she felt his rebuff in the center of her sternum like a physical push. Swallowing past the lump of insecurity in her throat, she added, “You just want to be loved. That isn’t stupid.”

Alistair gave a scoff.

“Right.” He sheathed his sword. “Just try not to tell the others how easily I was taken in, will you? As a friendly favor to me.”

“Alistair-”

Eilwyn turned to him, wanting to talk this out, to let him know he wasn’t alone in wanting a family, wanting absolution, wanting confirmation that being a Grey Warden would make others see how truly good he was and had always been.

But he was already fading from her sight.

“Wait. What’s happening to me, where are you going?” he asked, raising his hands to both ears as if he had dived into water from a great height and they now hurt him greatly. He let out a long whine, frustrated and pained. “Hey!”

And then he was gone, and Eilwyn was left with nothing but her own thoughts and regrets once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Alistair with Eilwyn](https://youtu.be/-s-zqBdoOSg?t=1m46s) in this chapter, in a way ^^;; couldn't not think of that one line haha.
> 
> We'll keep the next chapter a bit shorter, since this one is so long <3


	10. Some Recovery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote out Chapter 11 (wtf 11 already...) before this one, and it was so heart-breaking for me that I made Chapter 10 a little longer. I said "short" but what I apparently meant by that was "just not super angsty so that way it FEELS short".
> 
> ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆　Pay no attention to the wordcount behind the curtain　 ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

“I need a moment,” Wynne said weakly, as soon as they were awake.

Eilwyn could hear the plea, could hear her companions groan and move in response, but she had yet to open her eyes. Her limbs felt heavy, her eyelids welded shut in exhaustion. She heard Leliana heave a long sigh, and then there came a clinking of armor from beside her.

“You take your time,” Alistair replied. He cracked something, maybe his neck? There was a telltale, satisfying series of bony pops. “I think I’m still in shock, if we’re being honest. How do I know you’re real, McWhistle? Hmm? Come here, kiss me, show me you're not a dream.”

Eilwyn heard the mabari yawn languidly and then Alistair gave an _oof_ as the dog presumably climbed onto his lap. She tried to move, to open her eyes, but her body was still in and out of consciousness. She could not force herself to stir.

“We must press on,” Leliana protested groggily, sounding like she was suppressing a yawn of her own. “If there are innocent people still alive, we can't afford to waste any time.”

“We are no good to them like this,” Wynne murmured, and then she gave a sharp, pained grunt. It was like she had popped a sore limb back into place, or cracked a joint and alleviated pressure.

“I’m not suggesting we sleep the day away, or anything,” Alistair muttered. “But we could eat something, lick our wounds, and prepare for the final push.”

“There might not be a final push. Maybe this was the last of the horrors for now,” Leliana said optimistically, but even without opening her eyes Eilwyn could tell it was a false hope.

Nobody else dignified the comment with a response, and Leliana seemed to stand up to go stretch.

“I’m going to back to the chapel at the end of the hall,” Leliana said quietly. "Anyone who wishes to come may join me."

After a moment, there were footsteps.

“I’ll accompany you, child. Maybe saying a prayer will invigorate us both.”

The two women walked off, presumably to pray or light a votive or meditate. Something to help them feel more connected to the reality they found themselves in, as opposed to the Fade dream they’d just lived through. After a blissful moment of silence, Eilwyn felt a snuffle at her cheek.

Reluctantly, with so much difficulty that it sent a minimal bolt of worry through her mind, Eilwyn raised her arm to pet McWhistle. She patted him awkwardly on his broad forehead, turning her face away from his cold snout as he nosed her into consciousness.

“I’m up,” she groaned, “I’m up, enough, I’m up.”

She rolled over, curling up in a ball, and McWhistle started to stretch himself over top of her, asserting himself as well as putting all of his doggy weight onto her as if she were a human cushion.

“McWhiiiiiistle,” Eilwyn groaned, “Offffffff.”

“Need help?” Alistair asked.

Eilwyn could only groan. McWhistle got more comfortable, stretching his legs out so that his full weight was pressing down on her and pinning her arms beneath.

“Okay, okay. Come here you great big baby,” Alistair grunted.

There was a moment where McWhistle shifted like he was going to thrash and play, and Eilwyn prepared herself for the flurry of dog paws, but then Alistair lifted the mabari straight up as if he weighed nothing.

Eilwyn shifted onto her back, blinking lazily up at them both. Alistair turned and set McWhistle down about a foot from Eilwyn, and then knelt in front of him to get on the mabari’s level.

“See if you can’t find us something interesting while we rest. Sound good?”

McWhistle turned to Eilwyn, cocking his head as if to ask _is it really okay?_

Eilwyn grinned and sent her hand waving off towards the hall, telling him to shoo already. McWhistle barked once in confirmation, and then he was off.

“Ugh,” she fell back against the floor and spread her arms out in a wide T. “Thank you. He thinks he’s so little but he weighs a ton.”

“He just wanted to make sure you were alright, I think,” Alistair said. “Are you? Alright, I mean?”

“Yeah,” Eilwyn opened her eyes and shifted so that she could look over to where Alistair was sitting by her right hand. “Just tired.”

“Funny, you’d think after being asleep so long, we’d be energized,” Alistair teased.

“You’d think,” Eilwyn chuckled, settling against the stone. It felt good, the firmness against her back, flattening out her spine and allowing her to relax it back into alignment. She inhaled, then sighed deeply before glancing back up at Alistair once more. “Hey.”

“Hey,” he answered, but did not turn to look at her.

He had something in his hands. A little stone, something she’d seen him take out before when he was anxious. He would hold it and rub his thumb over it as he mulled something over. When they were in Redcliffe, he’d had it out at almost every opportunity.

Eilwyn reached out and cupped her hand over the toe of his boot.

“What’re you thinking about?” she asked softly, low enough that nobody would have to overhear if they weren’t trying to. She cast her eyes about the room, but the women had yet to return. She and Alistair were free to talk as they saw fit, just the two of them.

“Oh, the usual,” Alistair said, and his thumb stilled. He tucked the stone into his palm, clenching his hand lightly into a fist, and then he tucked it back into his pocket. He turned to Eilwyn with a smile. “Wondering if your First Enchanter ever got around to reading all those books he collected in his room. You ever think about that?”

“No, but I will now,” Eilwyn said with a grin.

She relaxed back, but kept her hand on his boot. When Alistair shifted to sit more comfortably, untucking his legs from beneath himself to do so, Eilwyn raised her hand up to allow him freedom of movement. He stretched out, sitting with his legs crossed before him. When it seemed like he was comfortable, Eilwyn let her hand drop back to touch him once more.

It landed on his knee, and for a minute Eilwyn felt indecent.

_He probably doesn’t feel that. Too much armor on for him to even register._

“You can sleep, if you want,” Alistair piped up. He sounded nervous, for some reason. “I’m not tired. I can keep watch.”

“I’m not sleepy, per se,” Eilwyn sighed. “Just… don’t want to move for a bit. Not after all of that.”

“Mmm.” Alistair paused, and then Eilwyn felt a touch at the back of her hand. Like fingertips tapping to see if she meant to keep it there. She shifted it, turned it over so that it was palm up, and Alistair placed his gloved hand over hers.

_Well then._

Eilwyn would normally find herself blushing, but after what she’d seen in the Fade, after what she’d _done_ , her body just didn’t seem to have the energy. She opened one eye and peeked out to check on Alistair.

He was staring straight ahead, his cheeks and ears bright red. But his hand was firm and gentle about hers, their palms connected, and Eilwyn knew that if he did not want this that he would pull away.

Once they quieted, their breathing began to sync. It was unconscious, soft, and such a comforting thing that Eilwyn felt almost as if she were being rocked back and forth by gentle waves. She squeezed Alistair’s hand gently as she relaxed, and he returned the gesture. They stayed like this for a while, basking in each other’s silence.

“You saw things too, didn’t you?” Alistair asked softly after a while.

It had been several minutes, to the point where Eilwyn had thought she might very well fall asleep, had Alistair not been holding onto her so sweetly. She figured that he was asking about the Fade, and what she might have seen there. She was exposed to their dreams, but they had not been privy to hers.

_Maybe that’s what he’s mulling over._

“Mmhmm,” she nodded, not opening her eyes.

“Can you… tell me about them?” He sniffed, and his hand tightened a bit about hers. “Only if you want, though. If it was too personal, I understand.”

Eilwyn stayed still for a minute longer, and then she rolled slowly to her side. She kept hold of Alistair’s hand, bringing her other arm forward to rest on the stone in front of her belly. She opened her eyes and blinked up at him with a long sigh.

“I saw my family,” she said simply.

Alistair’s eyes shot to hers, but when he saw her laying there looking up at him, something must have made him uncomfortable. He immediately glanced away once more, the flush of his skin bright pink once more.

“Your parents?”

“Well, technically just my mother,” Eilwyn said. “I… had these false memories. Of my family, of how the Blight ended. But also of us.”

She gave his hand a squeeze to let him know _us_ meant the two of them. She watched as Alistair’s jaw clenched, and he gave a chuckle.

“Did you dream that you managed to drink me under the table, then?”

“Maybe,” she answered with a smile. “If I did, I can’t remember that part.”

“Good. Leave me some dignity, I beg you.”

She raised their hands a few centimeters then slammed them back down onto Alistair’s leg in a playful blow. He laughed again, the noise caught behind closed lips and decidedly less throaty than usual.

They paused at the same time, their breathing quick and worried, and Eilwyn mused that this felt somehow more intimate than actively watching Alistair’s Fade dream.

“I…” she cleared her throat, tried again. “I knew it was a dream because of that.”

“Because of the drinking?” Alistair turned to her with a devious little grin.

“No, because…” she tilted her head, could feel her cheeks growing warm now as well. “Because you weren’t there. If it was real, you would have been.”

“So you said before,” he answered, and Eilwyn couldn’t tell if it was awe or fear that colored his tone.

“Do you disagree?”

“No,” Alistair looked over at her, and even from her vantage point where he was slightly upside-down, he looked as if he wasn’t upset. He looked relaxed, if not a bit embarrassed and shy. “You saw my dream. You know how I feel about it, too.”

“Are we…” Eilwyn paused, furrowing her brow. “Are we truly friends, Alistair? Even outside of your dream?”

“Maker, I hope so,” he said, bursting into a crooked grin. “Otherwise you’re really going to be mad when you find out I’ve borrowed a pair of your socks for the last week.”

Eilwyn laughed, caught off guard, and Alistair turned more fully towards her.

“Mine were wet, what can I say! I’ll consider it a gift from my dearest friend Eilwyn, how about that?”

“I expect you to return them washed and dried, you dirty, wet-footed thief,” she said between giggles.

“And if I refuse? I’ve grown quite attached to them, you see. We’ve been through quite a lot together.”

“Then I shall just have to strong-arm you into giving them up,” she insisted.

Before Alistair could retort with a joke of his own, Eilwyn pulled at his arm, down towards the floor. He gave a surprised grunt of amusement, but he managed to right himself before she tugged him completely off-balance.

“I love how you think that you, a mere twig of a human, can pin me, a massively armored bastard, with nothing more than a yank!”

Eilwyn did it again, a teensy bit harder this time, and Alistair fell to the stone with a clatter, feigning shock.

“Oh! Oh my goodness! I’ve been felled by my own hubris!” he moaned, rolling about on the stone floor as he lay prone. “The irony! The sweet, sweet irony!”

Eilwyn let go of his hand and moved over him, pinning both of his shoulders down to the floor with her palms. She was laughing, staring down at Alistair’s antics, but she managed to get him to stop squirming as much with a well-placed knee resting gently on the center of his abdomen.

“Easy, twig,” he grunted with a smile. “You’ve got more leverage than you think.”

“Do you yield?” she asked. She was going for an air of regality, but it was difficult with the giggles.

“Never, Grey Warden,” Alistair said, using his deep ‘villain’ voice. “Thou shalt never vanquish me!”

“Thou?” Eilwyn asked, tilting her head.

“It’s what the bad guys say,” Alistair replied in a hushed tone, as if they were straying from lines in a play to have an aside. “Have you not listened to the evil overlords we’ve put down time and time again? They love to use thee and thou and thine. Makes them feel important.”

“Oh. Right! Carry on then.”

“Thank you.” Alistair cleared his throat, closed his eyes, and then stilled as if he were getting back into character. “As I was saying.”

He lifted her up before she knew what was going on, before she could react. Alistair had both hands about her waist, and he rolled with her even as he pushed her up overheard of himself. Quickly, so quickly that Eilwyn almost didn’t know how he’d done it without smashing both of their faces to the floor, Alistair slid one arm behind her back and used the other to push at the center of her sternum as they moved.

He pinned her to the ground, effortlessly breaking her hold and seamlessly grappling her into a position where he had the control. Eilwyn landed with an ungracious _oof_ , with Alistair’s hand on the center of her abdomen and his right arm cradling her head so that it wouldn’t connect with the floor.

“Hey!” she protested. “No fair. You used an actual combat move.”

“Ah, thou speakest of fairness, eh? Then surrender, fair Warden,” Alistair said atop her. “Lest thine… um… thine soul be carried to the darkest depths of… er… Starkhaven! Yeah, that’s right, I’m a bad guy from Starkhaven, and I’m very, very mad about it!”

He was glowering down in his best impersonation of a ‘bad guy’. It involved a lot of eye narrowing and eyebrow raising, which rather made it look like he was about to sneeze on her. Eilwyn laughed so hard she could feel his hand being pushed upwards by her abs.

“Never, foul curr,” she said, and without thinking she sent a flurry of baby snowflakes up into Alistair’s face.

Immediately, she gasped and fell still, her hands freezing in midair.

_Shit._

She'd always been taught not to cast like that, to reserve her magic for when she truly needed it. It wasn't a plaything, and apprentices who treated it as such were very rarely brought up to be full-fledged enchanters. She knew better!

But Alistair laughed on, completely unperturbed by the magic she’d displayed. His hand at her sternum didn’t push her harder into the floor, and he didn’t throw himself off of her in a dramatic display of theatrics either.

In fact, he looked like he'd loved it.

“Ha! Thou hast frosted my stubble, but thou art no match for me,” he intoned, still using what Eilwyn finally realized was a pathetic attempt at a Starkhaven accent.

She wasn’t laughing, and he finally caught wind of how wide her eyes were, at how still she was beneath him. Immediately, Alistair dropped the pretense of playing and his smile fell away. He relaxed his hand at her sternum and searched her gaze with bright, frightened eyes.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Did I hurt you?”

“Hurt me?” Eilwyn blinked, confused. “No, you… you don’t mind that I blasted you in the face just now?”

“You didn’t exactly _blast_ me,” he answered, relaxing a bit. Eilwyn realized just how close he was, now that he wasn’t using that stupid accent anymore. “I mean, I’ve seen you blast people before, calling enough snow to send five archers back against a wall. That little breeze? That was no blast.”

“Still-”

“Why would I mind?” Alistair smiled playfully. “In fact, do it again. One more time.”

Eilwyn narrowed her eyes at him and he thrust out his chin.

“Have at thee, fair Warden!” he dared her, adopting the Starkhaven brogue once more. “Chill me with thine blasty magics!”

Feebly, Eilwyn sent a burst of fluffy snowflakes up and over Alistair’s jaw. He shivered, a grin spreading over his lips, and he looked down at her in triumph. That is, until his facial expression morphed into an over-exaggerated gasp of pain.

“Ah, thou hast felled me,” he croaked, and then he let out the fakest fake cough in the history of fake coughs. “Farewell, cruel world. Farewell, beautiful sock friends. And farewell, strong and powerful magelet.”

Eilwyn laughed, up until Alistair collapsed onto her much like McWhistle had done only a moment earlier. She let out a groaning wheeze, pretending to be squished, and began to smack at his back and shoulders in vain.

“Faker!” she accused in a laughing grunt.

She thought she felt Alistair laugh as well, a puff of air in the space above her shoulder where he had fallen. He was only half-on her, his arm supporting beneath her head was also supporting him so that his full weight was not crushing her.

"I assure you, miss, I am very dead," he mumbled, his words almost too muffled to be intelligible.

“You are going to leave me no choice,” Eilwyn cautioned him, her voice dropping in her own imitation of a villain. “I mean… thou leavest me no choice, Warden.”

Alistair lifted his head at the shift in tone, the bright-eyed excited look of a man who knows the tables have been turned written all over his face.

“No, wait-”

“Too late to beg for your- uh, thine life, my pretty,” Eilwyn said, giving up on the deep voice in lieu of a shrieky crone.

Alistair’s eyes crinkled in mirth, and he tried to roll away from her. She caught onto his armor and let the weight of his body pull her up so that she could straddle him, her robes hiked up so that her leggings were visible beneath them. Even as he tossed his head back and forth, quietly shouting "no, no, no", Alistair made sure to help adjust her so she was comfortable. Not for a second did Eilwyn feel as if he wanted to be anywhere but pinned.

Triumphant, she grabbed for Alistair’s hands and held them loosely above his head as he laughingly protested. He let her, even helping her by crossing his wrists so she could more easily keep his arms in only one of her palms. Letting out a witchy cackle, Eilwyn cast a little snowcloud above Alistair’s face with her free fingers.

It rained down fluffy, gentle snowflakes onto his lips, catching on his eyelashes and his hair. He laughed, puffing out his cheeks and making a big show of trying to blow the stormcloud away, but Eilwyn kept her concentration steady.

Plus, she got the impression that he wasn't really trying, anyway.

“Do you yield me my socks?” she demanded.

“It’s ‘dost thou’, Eilwyn, c’mon!” Alistair sputtered, his eyes crinkled shut in mirth as she sprinkled more snow down onto his face. “If you’re going to threaten me -pffft- do it right!”

Eilwyn drew herself up over him, letting go of his wrists in order to cast a bigger snowball in the air above them. It was the size of McWhistle’s big mabari face, but was not packed densely enough to be a heavy threat. The cold radiated off of it in billowy mist, chilling her fingertips even though she did not touch it. Eilwyn suspended it midair, holding it high above her own head with a look of mischief in her eye. Alistair stayed on the stone, his arms outstretched where she had left them, his wrists still crossed. He stared up at her, fondness evident in the way his gaze softened.

“Dost thou yield to me, my pretty?” Eilwyn asked again, dropping her crone voice as she smiled down sweetly at her friend.

Alistair blinked up at her, the smile fading from his face. His lips parted, and Eilwyn watched as he glanced down to her mouth.

“Y-yes,” he whispered. His gaze flitted back to meet hers, and he nodded. "I do."

Eilwyn felt an electric hum of pleasure arc through her. Suddenly, she was starkly aware of how her hips felt tucked against Alistair’s, of how he had lifted his knees to better support her as she straddled him. She could see him breathing heavily, his eyes hungry and his expression nervous.

The way he was stretched out on the floor before her, it was inappropriate and wonderful. She wanted to drag her hands down his sides, along his chest, and she knew that if she did so, Alistair would let her. She could tell by the way he was looking at her in complete and satisfied abandon for the span of those few heartbeats. Eilwyn could feel a blush creeping up along her own cheeks, and she felt instantly indecent and raw and powerful. It was a new combination for her.

Just as she was getting used to it, Alistair reached up with one swift hand and pinched her just above her hip.

Without thinking, she dropped her hands to swat his fingers away, and the snowball landed square on the back of her head and shoulders with a large wet smack. It burst in a powdery, chilly heap, the snowflakes light and wet and fresh. Eilwyn let out a shriek despite herself as ice slid down the front and back of her robes, tickling deliciously. She began to shake the excess down onto Alistair, who also began to shout at the chill.

“Oh! I’m sorry!” Alistair said, laughing so hard he could barely get the words out. "I yield, I said, I yield!"

“You… pfft… you liar!” Eilwyn answered, laughing as well.

Alistair reared up and lifted her so that she was no longer straddling him and shaking snow down onto him. She marveled at how strong he must be, to do such things in full plate. As he lifted her up, Eilwyn clung blindly to him and swiped her eyes free of the frost. Together, they staggered back to a standing position. When she had her feet steadily beneath her, Eilwyn began to shake out her robes and hair, shivering and making a big show of it.

In reality, she didn’t want Alistair to recognize how much she’d liked that. How good it had felt to be on him like that.

“Are you alright?” he asked, tapping her shoulder as she swiped the last of the snow from her face. “Here, I’ve got a handkerchief somewhere in my pack-”

“I’m fine,” she chuckled. “It’s a refreshing way to wake up, wouldn’t you say?”

“Having snow blasted into your face?” Alistair teased. “Oh most definitely.”

“What's wrong? We heard shrieking,” Wynne said, appearing at the doorway in a huff. “Are you alright?”

“Oh, yes,” Eilwyn blinked some melted snow away. “Sorry. We were just… playing.”

“Playing?” Leliana repeated, looking bright and smug as opposed to Wynne's expression of aloof confusion.

Eilwyn struggled to keep a straight face, tried to look as innocent as possible, but she could tell it was barely working.

_I wonder if the cold from the snow will cancel out how warm my blasted face feels right now._

“Just a quick game to let off some steam, right?” Alistair nudged Eilwyn’s shoulder and she let out a nervous laugh.

“Yes. Steam. And snow.”

Alistair snickered, and Wynne looked as if she wanted to say something more about it, but she never got a chance. Behind her came such a large _thwack_ that all four of them jumped in surprise, and Leliana gave a little squeak as she whirled and unsheathed her daggers.

Back in the doorway was McWhistle with an enormous stick jutting out of his mouth.

The mabari had tried to run through the door with it held horizontally, and had subsequently launched himself full-force into the stony doorframe. He'd been thrown backwards when it didn’t fit, and was now wriggling on his back as he stubbornly kept the stick clamped in his powerful jaws. He seemed to realize he was being watched, however, and looked up at the group with perked ears. His entire behind wiggled in a fit of happiness and pride, and even Wynne had to laugh at the image.

“Right,” Eilwyn said, smiling ruefully at her companions. “Well. Are we ready to press on?”

“Right behind you,” Leliana said. She moved to Eilwyn’s side. “Wynne and I lit some candles, said some prayers. It was very peaceful.”

“I’m very glad.”

"I'm sure that peacefulness was not what you were seeking, though, right?" Leliana asked sweetly.

Eilwyn gave her a sharp little grimace. She ignored how the redhead was looking at her, with a smirk on her face as if she knew Eilwyn was hiding something. Eilwyn moved over to Niall, and Wynne joined her. Together, they searched for the litany just like he’d said. When they found it, they said a prayer over his body, to thank his spirit one last time for all he’d done.

Alistair and Leliana were already moving towards the stairs that would lead then to the Harrowing chamber. Their last possible stop. Eilwyn moved to say something of reassurance to Wynne, to ask her if she felt like she was ready to take on whatever it was they would find there, but she never got the chance.

“Oh!” Leliana gasped. “Is someone over there? It looks like a Templar! I think he’s alive!”

“Be careful with it,” Alistair cried. “I’m not falling asleep again!”

Eilwyn hesitated only for a moment as their words registered.

_Cullen._

Before anyone could stop her, she vaulted forward and pushed past everyone, launching herself into the room at the bottom of the chamber stairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof, pushing these two together is like playing "innocence" chicken. Who's gonna break first and realize it's sexy?


	11. Confrontation

The smell hit her first, before anything else. Blood, entrails, rotten flesh, cinders; it was a blend of the butchers and a fireplace, as if someone had taken pigs’ corpses and exploded them onto the walls.

_No. Not pigs._

Eilwyn retched, reflexively grabbing for the door handle, but she was too far beyond it to use it for support. She staggered a bit, and in her struggle to right herself, she had to take a knee on the stone floor.

She could hear her friends pushing into the room behind her, could hear Wynne preparing an incantation and could hear Alistair move to unsheathe his sword. They began to search the room for the captors, for whoever had done this.

But Eilwyn did not look up at them. Instead, she watched the rocking, sobbing body of a man she thought she recognized.

“C-Cullen?”

He shook his head, but she knew it was him even before he spoke.

“This trick again? I know what you are. Begone,” he whimpered. Before Eilwyn could react, he shouted so loud that she flinched backwards. “ _Begone!_ ”

“It’s me, ser!” she snapped, angry at how scared she was, at how he’d raised his voice at her.

She had never heard Cullen yell before, not ever. He was gentle, soft-spoken, a nervous boy to be certain but not unkind-

“Leave me, demon,” he growled, slamming both hands against the barrier, causing it to flare up with light and bounce him back onto the bloodied stone. His armor connected with a crack as he hit once, then fell still.

Startled by the outburst, Eilwyn fell to the floor as well, both palms slapping behind herself into the sticky, visceral mess as her hips connected with the stone.

She knew she should obey him and leave, something about his mannerisms frightening her beyond the possessed Templars she’d encountered along the way… but she couldn’t.

As Eilwyn watched, Cullen raised himself back to his knees slowly, putting both hands on the floor before himself as he shuffled his shoulders. His curls covered parts of his face, no longer slicked back smoothly away from his forehead.

No, now his blonde hair clung in long, matted tresses about his eyes, lending to the dangerous illusion about him. Cullen was staring at her through a strand as he raised himself to his knees, and Eilwyn knew this was what prey felt like. He was eyeing her as a wolf eyes a deer in the dark.

Except Cullen’s eyes were not filled with merely violence, or even hunger. They were filled with fear, a darker terror than even she had ever known. His lips were parted, spittle at the corner as he panted.

_No. He isn’t the predator here._

It hit her like a wave of cold water.

_I am._

Cullen let out a low, keening wail, screwing his eyes shut, and at that moment Eilwyn felt hands at her shoulders as someone was attempting to pull her backwards.

“Move back, it might be dangerous-”

“Stop,” she hissed as she writhed free. “Can’t you see he needs help?”

She shrugged them away, whoever they were, and crawled on her hands and knees until she could reach the barrier once more. The floor beneath her palms squished and squelched as she moved, but she did not look down. She kept her eyes on Cullen, sensing that as soon as she looked away, she would lose him.

“Why do you haunt me so?” Cullen screamed, his voice breaking, his throat raw. It sounded thick, as if he were gargling gravel, and Eilwyn let out a small, sympathetic noise in return. “It hurts! End this, I beg of you!”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Eilwyn said, her words spilling forth in what she hoped was a calming way. “Don’t you recognize me? It’s Eilwyn, I’m here, I’m home-”

“Oh, I recognize you all too well,” Cullen answered, hanging his head to the floor. “How far they must have delved into my thoughts to conjure you up as you are now…”

The shock of it seemed to alter her senses. In this moment, time seemed to freeze. In a heartbeat, Eilwyn was able to look at every detail. She heard nothing, save for Cullen. She felt nothing except for the accumulation of details as she let her gaze roam over his beaten body.

He was crying. Eilwyn could hear sobs past his yells, wretched and dry, as he strove to gain control over himself. He looked as if he was bleeding, and as he clasped his hands together she heard him wince and watched him tuck at his right shoulder, as if he had dislocated it prior and reset it poorly. His eyes, when they had been trained on her, were bloodshot and crazed, as if he were under a spell. But when she placed her hand on the barrier once more, it was the only magic aura she could feel.

The madness Cullen suffered from now was not inflicted. It was coming from within.

Wynne was speaking to her, something about his cage that Eilwyn was struggling to register, and Cullen groaned as if he were being pressed down upon by some great force.

“Please,” he begged, “if there is anything human left within you… kill me now! Stop these games!”

“He doesn’t know what he’s saying,” Eilwyn said quickly over her shoulder, and then in a flash she was pressing back against the barrier. “Don’t talk like that, ser! We're going to help you. I'm going to help you!”

“Oh, how good you’ve gotten,” Cullen spat, inhaling deeply. “Your first attempt to impersonate her didn’t work, so now you’ve sunk your talons deeper, have you? Found her cadence, her tone? It doesn’t matter, I won’t succumb!”

He placed both hands on either side of his head, letting out a sharp cry as he did so, confirming what Eilwyn thought about his shoulder as he crumpled.

Leliana moved forward, offering water, but Cullen flinched with a shout.

“Don’t touch me! Stay away!”

Eilwyn tried again, talking over her friends as they shuffled awkwardly behind her, all of them looking for something to do to aid this poor soul.

“Wait, Cullen-”

“Don’t say my name,” he moaned, his back arching as he covered his eyes with his hands. “Not in her voice, not again!”

Eilwyn fell silent, unable to think past the pitiful, tormented cries of the man before her.

_Was this the closure I was seeking?_

She tried to remember the last time she'd seen Cullen. It had been so long.

He hadn't been around to say goodbye, had run off after they spoke about her Harrowing. After he'd told her he had been tasked to end it, should she fail. Back then, she'd looked up at him and asked him if he could have done it. Truly done it. He'd looked affronted and ashamed all at once, his beautiful eyes twisting from her as if he couldn't stand to be pinned by her stare. Eilwyn remembered that before he left, he'd reached out to shake her hand. So formal. Stiff. He'd always been awkward, but the idea of getting to touch him had thrilled her to no end.

She'd taken his hand, and he had left her.

And that was the last of it.

Since then, she'd seen countless innocents die, and it seemed that Cullen had as well. Were they even the same people anymore? Was it any wonder he did not recognize her?

Eilwyn blinked, sending tears rolling down her cheeks. Her throat had never felt so dry, her eyes never so tired. She was exhausted of crying over every heartache, completely drained. But it seemed to be nothing she could help. Maybe she was destined to respond to every emotion with tears, like some kind of patron saint of suffering.

_I wish I had sought him out. I wish I had not left things as I did._

_I don't think I will be given a chance to fix them._

“Shh,” she soothed, but she wasn't sure if she was trying to calm Cullen or herself. In an effort to be more comforting, she ran her hand over the barrier and inadvertently smeared blood in an arc across it. She grimaced, then stilled her fingers. “Shh, I'm here. I’m here now. Everything's going to be alright, I promise. I'm going to make it alright again.”

Cullen’s shoulders stilled, his breathing slowing, and for a moment he looked up at her and she was brought back to her time as an apprentice.

For a moment, his eyes were bright and intelligent. His chest rose and fell with the barely withheld brokenness of tears. His lower lip trembled. Cullen swallowed hard, searching her gaze with his own. For a moment, Eilwyn felt like he saw her.

But then something within him snapped back into place, like a rubber band stretched too far, and his eyes grew wide and crazed once more. He lashed out, punching at the barrier, making her startle as he was pushed onto his back with the reverberated force from the impact. He landed harder this time, the force expelling a cry from him seemingly without his volition. From his crumpled heap on the ground, Cullen let out a long, frustrated groan as he rolled himself into a ball and stayed there.

“Stop doing that,” Eilwyn screamed, pressing futilely against the barrier. “Can’t you see it’s harming you?”

“Better that than what you offer! I see through what you’re doing, see through the lullaby of… your voice, your hands… sifting through my thoughts,” Cullen muttered, and then he turned to spit. Pink, as if he were bleeding inside of his mouth. “Tempting me with the one thing I always wanted but could never h-have.”

Eilwyn heard a noise behind her. A gasp, but she could not tell who it came from.

Cullen’s breathing hitched on a sob, his body convulsing as he brought himself back to a kneeling position. He folded his hands in his lap and turned his face up to the ceiling, and Eilwyn saw tears streaking through the caked blood and grime covering his face.

“Using my shame against me,” he murmured, “my ill advised infatuation with her… a mage, of all things!”

Eilwyn’s heart skipped traitorously.

_Cullen’s… infatuation?_

_No._

It couldn't be. He'd told her no. He'd told her outright that he never felt anything for her, had turned her away and left her to her bitter tears of rejection and his side of unlit votive candles.

_He's lying. He has to be._

“You dug up her confession!” Cullen cried. "The way the candles lit her eyes, the way her fingers trembled nervously, all of it! To the letter!"

He was oblivious to her hand clenching into a fist on the barrier, to the way Eilwyn’s jaw had dropped open, to how she brought her other fingers up to cover her trembling lips.

_He... held that so dear?_

"What confession?" Eilwyn asked, even though she knew. She had to be certain, had to know for sure.

“You know damn well!" Cullen spat. He sniffled, once, twice, then stammered out, "The only one she gave me."

Eilwyn's eyes closed against the imagery.

_I could have given you more._

"You took it from me," Cullen continued, his voice rising steadily in volume as he did, "you peeled back everything I'd held dear and found it. Played it for me, tainted it beyond repair, you monsters! You tore into my very soul and plucked the one secret moment I hid for myself, the one moment I almost… and you… you look so much like her… I want to...”

He moaned with effort, bringing his hands before himself and beginning to rock in prayer once more.

"I would rather die than endure this agony,” he whispered. "Please, deliver me unto the Maker, if there is any mercy left within you. I beg of you."

"No, ser, please-" Eilwyn choked out, unsteady in the wake of seeing someone she held in such high esteem brought so unfathomably low.

“Eilwyn,” someone behind her begged over his rambling. A voice that she knew, that she trusted, that she wanted.

_Alistair._

She could hear concern in his voice, could hear worry. But more than that, he had once again adopted that hushed, embarrassed timbre he'd had in the Fade. As if he was unsure of how to even speak about such things.

“I know he was your friend. But you don’t have to listen to this if you don't want to. I don't know if he even knows what he's saying."

Alistair, as he was talking, laid a tentative hand on Eilwyn's shoulder. It was barely a tap, hesitant and shaky, and Eilwyn glanced up at Alistair with wide, forlorn eyes.

“I can help him,” she said thickly.

Alistair grimaced, then seemed to catch himself and neutralized his expression once more.

"Can you?"

“Maybe?" she answered, catching her breath as it came with more and more difficulty. "I don't know... Just let me think. If he just looks at me… Cullen, if you would just look at me…”

Cullen cried out again at his name, and Eilwyn felt Alistair take a step back. She could hear him preparing his shield, as if he worried Cullen might burst forth a monster from the cage at any moment. But Cullen stayed on his knees, sobbing up to the heavens.

“I’m so tired of these tricks!”

“They aren’t tricks,” Eilwyn said, knowing how futile it was, knowing how far gone he was. She kept her hands on the barrier, though, pressed against the magic, her mana infusing it with a brightness that only served to better show the cage Cullen found himself in.

It illuminated the blood. There was so much black, clotted blood on the floor that it was no surprise Cullen had it streaking his face and through his hair. There were shackles, cast to the side, and weapons just out of reach. Had he tried to use them? Were they there in order to provide a means for escape… or for some sinister amusement? She could feel that the barrier had allowances, things that it would let pass through it, but it would take so much time to crack it like the lock that it was...

“When I close my eyes, she’ll be gone,” Cullen whispered. “Maker, hear me, I beg of you, protect and deliver your humble servant unto thee-”

He collapsed into mumbling, falling into prayer, and Eilwyn took a shuddering breath. Slowly, she supported herself against the barrier and rose to her feet. Her robes stuck to her legs and thighs, rich red from the fluids she’d fallen into, rivulets of blood not her own dribbling down the meat of her calves and into her boots. She could feel it drying on her lips, where she had touched her face unthinkingly.

Still, she stood unflinching before the barrier, and she waited.

Eventually Cullen silenced. He raised his head, blinking at her as her hands radiated warm, yellow light against the barrier that held him hostage.

“Maker’s breath,” he whispered, his hands falling away.

Eilwyn’s shoulders straightened, and she no longer felt tears forcing their way down her face. Her jaw was set, her hands stable. She watched as Cullen shakily put one foot beneath himself.

“S-still here?” he breathed. “But that’s always worked before… I close my eyes, but you’re still here when I open them.”

He stood on shaky legs, raising himself to his full height with difficulty. He cried out only once, when his ankle seemed to roll beneath his own weight, but after a minute of pained breathing Cullen was able to right himself before the barrier.

He was a good head taller than Eilwyn. Always had been. She’d loved that about him, loved how intimidating it was to have him glance down at her along the bridge of his nose. He’d pretended to be disapproving, but she’d always known. She’d always known he liked the way she laughed.

Now, she was not laughing, and he looked so very small. A child, forced into Templar armor, forced into a cage. Eilwyn’s heart, and whatever last brittle remnants she held in it for Cullen, rattled with pity.

“You’re… her?” Cullen asked, his voice a demand even in its weakness. He raised up a hand as if to reach for her, but then remembered the barrier and dropped it back to his side. “Truly?”

After a beat, Eilwyn nodded.

“Makes you wish you hadn’t said those things, huh?” she whispered, attempting to feign a smile. It fell away from her before it even manifested. She could not even pretend to feel anything but crushed and empty. What he'd gone through... what she hadn't been there to prevent... it ate at her.

Cullen’s eyes darkened, and he shook his head.

“I am beyond caring what you think,” he stated, and he drew his shoulders back.

"Wh-what?" Eilwyn shook her head, confused. "I don't understand."

"It does not shame me to admit the pain I have endured at my own shortcomings," Cullen stated, the rasp in his voice the only evidence of his screaming barely a second prior. It was strange, seeing him act so formal when she had just seen him hunched and feral. Eilwyn scoffed, still at a loss.

"What shortcomings? Do you mean letting them torture you? Because that's not your fault, Cullen, you-"

"I know it's not my fault, Amell."

At her last name, chosen deliberately instead of her first, Eilwyn halted immediately in her train of thought. Her lips pouted, forming the last word she'd uttered, she stood there frozen. She must have looked a damn fool, because Cullen sneered at her past the barrier. Standing with his back straight, his height at its full potential, he once again struck an imposing figure. He looked down at her once more, his eyes glazed with sorrow and regret.

“I do not speak of torture, not the kind you mean. I speak of the past," he said. Then, after a brief pause, he added, "The Maker knows my sin, and I pray he will forgive me.”

“D... do you mean to say that you feel as if you sinned where I'm concerned?” Eilwyn asked, and a dark laugh bubbled up without her permission. “You couldn't have, Cullen, you were a perfect gentleman. You never-”

“The thought alone is something to abhor _,_ ” he muttered, his words coated with annoyance, as if she were a fishbone he had found it his mouth as he were about to swallow. “And you. When you confessed your feelings, you knew how I felt, and you forced us to confront it aloud. Forced me to turn you down, in the chapel of all places.”

Behind her, Eilwyn heard Leliana give a faint noise of surprise.

“It wasn't like I asked to bed you,” Eilwyn snapped, anger surging now as her cheeks burned in shame. “I told you I liked you, and I asked if we could be more than friends. When you said no, I did not pursue!"

"You think that even confessing such a thing carries no weight?" he answered, looking at her as if she was an idiot.

And Maker take her, Eilwyn certainly felt like one.

"Not at all!" she protested, the shock of his tone numbing her to all logic. "It was nice!"

"It was immoral!"

Eilwyn gasped as if she'd been slapped.

_I remember it differently._

"How can you say that?"

"You were my charge," Cullen spat, "I can't expect someone like you to understand."

"Someone like me?" she repeated.

"Yes," he bit. "A slip of a girl who knew exactly what she was doing when she wore her belts as low-slung as you did, when she chose a Harrowing robe that offered her collar to every prying eye!"

Eilwyn blushed harder, if that were even possible. Maker, it was so warm in the room already, the combination of her flushed skin and chilled heart made her feel faint.

"I had no intention of torturing you. I thought you were my friend," she pleaded. "What should I have done? Just ignored how you made me feel?”

“You shouldn't even have to ask such a thing," Cullen replied. "It would have been better for all of us if you had just kept your head down like a good little apprentice!”

Eilwyn took a step back, physically affronted and unsure of what to say to such a thing.

A painful little flare of a fantasy she’d had briefly torched at the center of her chest. It latched onto her innards and twisted like a corkscrew undoing them, and it was physical torment. So much so that she leaned harder against the barrier, her knees growing weak from enduring it.

Back when she had completed the Joining, back when Alistair was still just another Templar and Duncan was just giving them advice for the onslaught at Ostagar, Eilwyn had nursed a secret. She'd fantasized at night, replayed a desire to go back to Kinloch Hold once this was all said and done. In her mind, she would go back with banners held high. She would flaunt her freedom to those she’d left behind in the Circle. She had hoped that, upon returning, Cullen would get to behold her in all of her armor, with all of her Grey Warden victories behind her, and he would finally and truly see her.

Staring at him now, his mouth curling with disgust, she wondered if he ever saw Eilwyn at all, or if she was merely a pretty mage who’d caught his eye since he was stuck in a prison for years with nobody else to be tempted by.

_I responded. I talked to him, when others wouldn’t. Just the first girl who was kind to him, the only one in the cage we were both trapped in that he found attractive._

_I wasn't really special._

_I was just there._

Eilwyn felt bile rise in the back of her throat. Bitter regret, too thick a substance to merely swallow. She shook her head, but refused to let him chase her eyes from his.

She used to let him cow her. Used to feel a thrill at his power, his stature.

_But I’m stronger, now._

Now, Eilwyn felt only deep, prickly ire at his condescension.

“You’re right,” Eilwyn stated, keeping her voice steady. “If you're a sinner, I guess that makes me one too."

He said nothing. She didn't know if she'd even expected him to.

"I liked you so much, Cullen. You remember how it was, here. How lonely it was. So many of the Templars never spoke to me, but you... were different," she confessed, her voice small, and the words kept coming. "So yes. I... admit it. It was my fault, and I confessed without thinking, and I see now that that has haunted you. But I didn’t think the Maker would mind, because I thought you were kind, and trustworthy, and gracious-”

“Stop.”

“And you looked at me as if I was the most important person in the world-”

“Stop, I said!” he demanded, covering his ears with a groan.

“Why!” Eilwyn shouted, slamming both of her palms against the barrier. “Tell me why it's such a bad thing to admit!”

“Enough!”

“No,” Eilwyn railed. “You get to throw the blame my way, and I don't even get to ask you why?"

"Your repentance is between you and the Maker, not-"

"Why do you hate me so much?" she cried. "Why do you cut so deeply when all I ever did was treat you like you held the stars in your eyes? Is it because I left the Circle? Because I abandoned you here? Because I-”

"You’re a _mage!_ ” Cullen yelled. "It is a sin because of  _what you are!_ "

Eilwyn stopped talking. She heard Alistair set his shield down just behind her, but she got the sense that her companions were just as much in shock as she was. They had only ever spoken briefly of their pasts, and Eilwyn had never revealed this.

_And now... they know more than even I wanted to know._

Cullen dragged his hands away from his face, waving them in front of himself as if to rid himself of her very image. He took a deep breath, then another. Finally, when his gasps came less laboriously, he spoke in a quieter, more controlled voice.

“You’re a mage, Amell. And I, a Templar.”

He raised his eyes to her, and Eilwyn saw the truth of it. There was no remorse there, no empathy or love or friendliness. There was only contempt. She opened her mouth to say something, but nothing came out. She wanted to refute that, but wasn't there still some small part of her that believed it?

_In the library, hours ago. I said I didn't._

_But now..._

“Much as you imposed yourself on me during a vulnerable time in my life," Cullen said, as if he could not stand to watch her silently exist without filling in the conversational gaps. "I see clearly now what the Maker appointed me for. It is my duty as a Templar to oppose you, and all that you are.”

“It’s also your duty as a Templar to protect us-” Eilwyn tried to say, but he cut her off.

“Protect you?” Cullen spat angrily.

He laughed, then, a taunting, sarcastic noise that made Eilwyn drop her hands from the barrier completely. That sound hurt worse than a blade at her ribs, worse than her mother’s hands at her back. She stared at him in an utter loss for words. Cullen's eyes were flinted, steely daggers, and his posture was aggression made tangible.

_Such hatred..._

In a moment of self-loathing, Eilwyn wondered how she could have loved anyone capable of such hatred in the first place.

" _You_ need protection from _us_ _?_ " he laughed. "Look what you did! Look what _mages_ did! They killed my friends, the men and women who were my _family!_ ” Cullen’s voice sounded as if it would not take much more, and he spat pink once more. After two deep, ragged breaths, he shook his head and finished, “You deserve no protection.”

Wynne stepped forward, then, as if the spectacle had caught up to her breaking point. She held an arm about Eilwyn’s shoulders, and Eilwyn allowed it to happen. She took several steps back, watching Cullen pace in his cage as she did so, and Wynne sheltered her as best she could. Eilwyn could feel herself trembling, but was powerless to stop it. Wynne rubbed absently at her forearms, and Eilwyn clenched her jaw to keep her teeth from chattering.

_Cold. It hurts to breathe._

Magelights about her fingernails. Slush in her veins. The room closing in. Anxiety swirled within Eilwyn's core like a cloud of cold poison, fogging over her rationality. She had always thought, as a young child, that she would outgrow such panic attacks as she matured.

And hadn't she matured since then? She had faced hordes of darkspawn, bands of thieves, sneaky liars, traitors to her king, and nightmares of an Archdemon the tore into her very soul. She'd found strange, new people to surround herself with, people she saw various types of goodness within. Was doing her duty not mature of her?

So why, then, did her body still seize with terror at certain situations?

Why, then, did she lose control of her emotions and freeze like she was right now?

_I don't want to be here anymore._

She knew, somewhere in the back of her mind, that she should just end the conversation and leave. She could hear her companions deferring to her, could feel them waiting and following her lead. If she left, they would too. She could end this, if only she could move.

Cullen stopped pacing and took several deep breaths. As if he were trying to regain some semblance of militaristic veneer, even though his cool had long since shattered.

“Why did you even return to the tower, Amell?” he asked, shaking his head at her. “How did you survive?”

“Oh, like you care,” she snapped before she could stop herself.

“I care about the future of the Circle, and all of those who still inhabit it! I demand to know what your intentions are!”

“Is it such a shock to you that I merely want to help?” Eilwyn bit out through clenched teeth, her voice weak even as fury burned within her abdomen. “I’m here because I care. This was my home.”

“As it was mine,” Cullen retorted, “and look what they’ve done to it. They deserve to die. Uldred most of all.”

He held a hand to his curls, sniffling thickly, and Eilwyn watched as his mood swung back to despair almost instantly.

“You want to help, you say? You _care?_ ” he whimpered.

Eilwyn closed her eyes, wishing she could wake up from this, wishing it would fade away like the dream she’d had about her mother.

_If I had known… I never would have…_

“If you truly care, you’ll kill them all for what they’ve done,” Cullen begged, and at his tone, Eilwyn opened her eyes despite herself.

_He vaults from fear to anger to hopelessness... they broke him... whatever they did to him has broken him._

Cullen looked up to the ceiling once more, as if to find answers there, but there were still none. Eilwyn could see fat tears rolling down his cheeks, and when he parted his lips to speak again, his breathing hiccuped.

"What did they do to you?" Alistair breathed aloud, but Eilwyn could tell it had escaped him unconsciously.

Still, Cullen seemed to react to another man's voice. Perhaps to anyone's voice save Eilwyn's.

“They caged us. Like animals. Looked for ways to break us… They… made them do terrible things, with the blood. Made me…” Cullen’s breathing quickened, so fast, so panicked, and Eilwyn felt ice slush through her veins at the noise. “I’m the only one left. They turned some into… monsters. And there was nothing I could do.”

He held up one arm, the one Eilwyn suspected wasn’t injured, and covered his eyes with it as he sobbed brokenly.

“You must…” Eilwyn swallowed hard, then tried again. “You must stay strong. I know you Cullen, I know you can fight this.”

Wynne’s hands tightened about her shoulders as Eilwyn leaned forward, as if the older mage was gently keeping her from approaching the barrier again. Cullen’s breathing slowed, then he let out another laugh. It was low, quieter than the other maniacal one he’d let loose, and it frightened Eilwyn even more.

“You know me?” he murmured, peering out from beneath his hand. Eilwyn did not flinch, and he dropped his hand completely. “What do you know, then? Do you know of the nights Falin stayed up training me to keep my shield high? Or of how Blakely was the one who taught me how to play Wicked Grace?”

Eilwyn's chest clenched.

"I wanted to," she whispered. "I would have, if you'd told me."

Cullen scoffed.

"No. You saw a Templar you wanted to ensnare, nothing more. I was not a person to you," he snapped. "Just as my brethren were mere playthings for the blood mages, so too was I for you."

Each time she thought he could not stab more cruelly, Cullen proved her wrong. Eilwyn shut her mouth.

“I still cannot believe I allowed myself to be tempted by the likes of you,” Cullen muttered. “Looking at you now, at the way you can walk through here spouting your platitudes without any true thought to the matter at hand-”

“That is enough,” Wynne tried to interrupt, but Cullen raised his voice again to drown her out.

“ _-to the matter at hand_ is absolutely baffling to me!”

"You're going to regret saying such things, young man," Wynne cautioned. "This moment is difficult, I cannot imagine the pain you've been put through. But it is not Eilwyn's doing."

"You treated me so well, before," Eilwyn stammered. "What happened to that kindness you showed me back then?"

Cullen looked taken aback. As if he had momentarily forgotten his own actions, his own desires.

And for a moment, Eilwyn stupidly allowed herself to hope. She watched as Cullen swallowed, true doubt written clearly on his face. With one hand, he combed his fingers back through his grimy curls to pull them away from his face. He grimaced with the pain of moving forward, but then approached the barrier as much as it allowed him and bit out his words so that Eilwyn could plainly hear.

“The boy you knew before was naive, and he was blind to everything but you."

Eilwyn's mouth dropped open, and she hated that even in the midst of his depravity, Cullen still had the ability to squeeze at her heart like that. But before she could say that it had been the same for her, that she had learned so much since they'd known one another, he spoke again.

"Yes. I will admit, I was tempted once," Cullen said, as if talking to himself. He blinked, then seemed to remember himself. "But here you are… bathed in Templar blood even as you tell me you know me.” Cullen groaned through clenched teeth. “And to think, I once thought we were too hard on you.”

Eilwyn closed her eyes once more, tried to block out the vision of ire painted upon his face. She believed him. Once, she would have said that he was a fine example of a Templar specifically because he did not mistrust them all. He gave the mages support, observed their studies and note-taking with a polite, vested interest. The one time she had seen fear in his eyes had been when she had climbed to a high window with a rickety old ladder in order to smell the rain.

He had looked up at her and been worried she would fall, break something, hurt herself.

Now, he looked at her and saw only more bloodshed.

And he wasn't wrong.

Eilwyn knew she was coated in it. She had rolled in the blood of so many without a thought, her only concern being to make her way to the top of the tower. When faced with possessed Templars, she had cut them down, and unflinchingly so. When she'd fallen to her knees in the pools of their drained lives, she had not given it a second thought. She could feel the crimson slide over her skin, caking about her joints and sticking to her scars as it went, the blood of all of her protectors seeping deep into her pores.

_Andraste forgive me._

“I can't express to you... the regret I carry with me over so much of what I've done,” she stated, her words frail and pathetic even to her own ears. Wynne's arm tightened about her, steeling her. Eilwyn looked up at Cullen, and she hoped he could read the genuine truth in her eyes. "But I will not shed any unnecessary blood. Not even if it means a blood mage is spared. I just... I couldn't live with myself if I knew that innocent people died because of me."

"Innocent people will die if you allow even one mage to exit this tower," Cullen urged. "Promise me you'll end this if you get the chance, that you'll strike them down for the good of us all. Promise me, Eilwyn."

The belief within his voice, the steady timbre, smacked so close to sanity that for a moment Eilwyn even questioned herself. Her name on Cullen's lips felt so much like home that it made her want to sink to her knees and weep.

But then she looked down at her hands.

_So much blood already... but none from those I could have spared._

She looked back up at Cullen with grief written on her face.

"I can't," she whispered, her words thick with remorse. "I'm sorry."

It was harder and harder to suck in air past the shallow point of panic at the top of her lungs, and the world was beginning to feel fuzzy about its edges.

Cullen spat once more, his front teeth red.

“You were a foolish girl when I knew you,” he muttered. “And you haven’t changed a bit.”

“Alright, that’s enough friendly banter for one day,” Alistair spoke up, and Eilwyn almost jumped at the sound of his voice. She turned to try and look at him over her shoulder, but was not given the chance. “I’m about done with this little interview.”

"Who are you?" Cullen asked, but Alistair paid him no mind.

He moved to Eilwyn's side and actively placed himself between her and the man pacing in his magical cage. He did not address Cullen, he faced her and her alone. Eilwyn wondered if he was intentionally making himself a wall in their conversation.

_"So he's an idiot."_

The memory bubbled forth without her permission, the sound of Alistair blandly assessing Cullen just based on Eilwyn's brief description of their past. She wanted to laugh, but the noise that escaped her sounded more like a scoff. A little snort, one that reminded her as it tickled her nose just how numb the front of her face was becoming, just how cold she was so suddenly.

Alistair put his hands on his hips and gave a long sigh. He still looked tired, his eyes so different from only moments ago. Moments ago, he'd looked up at her with such warmth. He'd held his hands up above his head and happily yielded to her. He'd given her a moment of reprise from the horror and the bloodshed, as he always seemed to do. He'd laughed with her, played with her, and now...

His brow was furrowed, and Eilwyn wondered if this encounter had changed how he felt about her entirely.

Now, with this grim spectacle, Eilwyn didn’t want to know what Alistair truly thought about her any longer.

_"The Chantry isn't here."_

Hadn't he said that to her? When he'd asked what she thought of Templars and mages?

And now look where they were. Confronted by everything Eilwyn had known, somewhere in the pit of her stomach, was true.

She didn’t want to know if he agreed with Cullen, or if seeing this past unspoken desire dredged up like muck from the bottom of a pond had colored his view of her. She didn't even want to know if he empathized with her current pain. The idea of him knowing what it was like to be hated so utterly threatened only to break her heart further. She wasn't sure what Alistair could give her, what she could ask for, what he was even  _doing_ here talking to her like this-

Her breathing was uneven, irregular and stilted, her anxiety strangling her slowly from the inside, and she barely registered when Alistair spoke.

“Eilwyn. Breathe.”

She moved her eyes to his with difficulty. He was regarding her with quiet, intimate certainty, but she still could not bring herself to drag in a deep breath.

She realized, as if through a wall of fog, that Alistair’s expression was not one of judgment. He seemed to be simply waiting for her to do as he'd asked, seemed to understand it would take her a moment. Wynne’s arm remained about her shoulders, and the senior enchantress said nothing to rush her or pressure her either. With their calm surrounding her on both sides, Eilwyn knew she could work through this. She exhaled long and slow, then forced herself to breathe past the pain in her diaphragm as she struggled to drag air a little deeper into her lungs.

After a moment, Eilwyn cupped both her hands around her nose and mouth, and then cooled the air about her fingers. Breathing in deeply, Eilwyn closed her eyes, and when she opened them Alistair looked more at ease. She focused on his neck as he watched her, on the way his hair poked up haphazardly from the helmet he’d been wearing, anything but his eyes. As she let her gaze roam over Alistair’s chest, Eilwyn realized he was breathing with her. Alistair was keeping the same rhythm, his chest rising and falling as hers did.

_In... hold. Out... hold. In... hold. Out..._

_Just like when he held my hand before._

Unconsciously or not, it helped to soothe her even further. Knowing that she wasn't alone in this was something she could hold onto, something to drag her up from the well of pity and ice she found herself in.

Behind them, Leliana was engaging with Cullen, something about the Maker and forgiveness, and it was a valiant effort. She could hear Cullen spouting some rhetoric or other, and then Leliana going further. Pushing out of compassion. Speaking up because she cared. McWhistle was growling and grunting, and Eilwyn could hear his claws scrabbling against the bloody floor, as if he were being held back away from the barrier by his collar. Eilwyn turned, glancing between Wynne and Alistair, but Wynne was staring at Cullen and no longer focused on her. As if Wynne was barely holding back biting forward herself. As if Eilwyn was a tether, something anchoring Wynne to her spot far from the raging Templar, instead of vice-versa.

“Better?” Alistair asked, and she turned her attention back to him as she dropped her hands.

Eilwyn swallowed, then gave a weak nod.

"Good," he stated. "Now that you're calm, I want you to listen to me."

She looked up at him, prepared for whatever he had to say. Her heart beat faster in anticipation, worried that Alistair was also going to critique her, that he would chastise her for not being stronger when she needed to lead them all onward. She didn't know if she could take it, if he did so, but she would try.

“Do you think, for even a moment,” Alistair said carefully, “that if you were a fool, I would have followed you this far?”

Those words hit someplace within her, a place that was still feeling. Something true reverberated in Eilwyn’s chest, a memory. Something she had said to Alistair only moments, or maybe hours, ago, in the Fade.

_“Do you think…”_

_“… your side…”_

“I mean, knowing me, maybe I would have,” Alistair continued, with a strong hint of irony that even Eilwyn was able to detect. “Whatever Grey Wardens exist need to stick together, of course. But I'm not saying that's the case now!" He cleared his throat, then blurted, "If you weren't an excellent person, I wouldn't follow you with this much confidence, that’s for sure. That's all I'm trying to say.”

“He’s right,” Wynne said softly. “Do not doubt yourself. You are being rational when faced with great emotional duress, and that is not foolish in the least.”

Cullen gave a grunt of pain, as if he’d stepped and rolled his ankle once more.

“Rational? How is she being rational? Lie to yourselves if you must, but you don’t know what has befallen the others! I’m the _only_ one making any sense here,” Cullen stated hysterically. “They have infected the minds of everyone around them, dug in deep with blood magic. To ensure that none escape, you must kill them all.”

Alistair did not turn. He kept Eilwyn’s gaze, and she wondered if he could read her thoughts.

_This is what I wanted. I sought him out. I thought…_

_What did I even think?_

_That I could refuse him, instead of being refused? That I would be someone he regretted letting go of, instead of someone he regretted knowing?_

Conflicting desires swirled like ink about her mind's eye, and Eilwyn felt her chest grow heavy.

“I… need a minute to think,” she breathed aloud, her lips barely forming the words as her vision grew steadily more and more colorless.

“Alistair-” Wynne cried under Eilwyn’s sagging weight, probably caught off guard by her wooziness.

“Hey, hey,” Alistair’s hands went to Eilwyn’s waist immediately, catching her as Wynne shifted out of the way. Alistair kept her on her feet, and inadvertently moved so that he was no longer blocking Cullen's line of sight. “Steady, there. Keep breathing.”

“Oh come off it,” Cullen growled. “Do not be fooled by her pretty face, by her swooning. She is one of _them_. Any feint of weakness is an evil ploy for us to feel pity, and you must not fall for it!"

“I said enough,” Alistair turned, allowing Eilwyn a clear view of Cullen once more. He held out a hand, motioning for Cullen to relax. “I can't just let you talk to her like that, not when you have no idea what she’s been through.”

“What _she’s_ been through?” Cullen balked, derision coating his tone like acid. “I’ve seen evils you cannot imagine, experience pain like you cannot believe, all at the hands of evil beings just like _her._ ”

Maybe it was the hazy chill that spurred her, the lack of feeling anything, or perhaps a last-ditch effort at restoring what once was; whatever it was that encouraged her, Eilwyn piped up once more.

“I am a mage. I know that makes you feel as if you know everything you need to know about me,” she said, her voice more plaintive than she would’ve liked. “But people choose whether to be good, or to be evil."

She wanted to stare Cullen down. With a statement that strong, she wanted to show him how starkly she believed it to be true. But Eilwyn couldn't. She was distracted by the way Alistair's hand reflexively tightened at her waist. She looked to him instead, at the way his jaw was clenched, and finished her thought in a whisper.

"I choose to be good. If that makes me a fool, then... so be it.”

Alistair looked down at her when her tone softened. She blinked slowly, grateful that he held her so close, even though she knew it was just out of necessity. Looking up at Alistair, Eilwyn knew she would treasure the moments they'd had together until this point. She searched his gaze, finding surprise written in his features, along with something else that Eilwyn could not parse. She parted her lips to say more, but Cullen just scoffed behind Alistair's shoulder.

“A mage is but an empty vessel inviting hardships for the rest of the world, whether you intend to be or not. Only mages are susceptible to-”

“You have more than been allowed to say your piece,” Wynne silenced him, cutting him off with authority and poise.

She let go of Eilwyn's arm in order to move forward towards the barrier. Eilwyn stumbled at her absence, half-listening to how she gathered the relevant information from Cullen without flinching, as she refocused the group on the task at hand. Alistair slowly took Wynne's place, offering his forearm for Eilwyn to support herself with as she recovered.

_Blood mages upstairs. Torture. Uldred. Irving._

“We have to try to save as many as we can,” Eilwyn stated. Leaning in gratitude against Alistair, she took a deep breath and braced herself against his side.

"I agree," Wynne said, turning to smile at Eilwyn sadly. "And thank you."

“Why won’t you listen?” Cullen begged. “Your compassion will doom us all!”

Alistair shook his head, sighing deeply.

“Ignore that,” Alistair said, addressing Eilwyn in a low tone as Wynne tried to rationalize with the distraught Templar. “I know it’s hard, but just… put it out of your mind for now.”

"He sound as if he truly believes it, though," Eilwyn mumbled, doubt curling within the back of her mind. "What if he's right?"

“I'm sure he does, and he isn't. His hatred of mages is so intense, the memories of his friends’ deaths still fresh in his mind,” Alistair continued. He cut himself off, then sighed again.

Eilwyn glanced up, finding Alistair’s eyes, and as their gazes connected he seemed to soften.

“But it doesn't mean he's right. It just means he's afraid."

"Mmm." Eilwyn lowered her voice, ashamed. "I'm sorry."

"Nothing to be sorry for."

"No, Alistair, you never should have seen this... this bloody spectacle." Eilwyn glanced back towards the barrier. "I didn't know it would be this way, finding him. If I had, I wouldn't have..." she trailed off.

It wouldn't have mattered if she was actively seeking him out or not. He still would have been here. He still would have said those things about her.

Alistair paused, as if he were contemplating the apology. After a moment, he cleared his throat.

"After we finish this,” he said gently, “you can try again, when he's more himself."

Eilwyn narrowed her eyes, not understanding. Alistair's cheeks seemed to warm, and he looked as if he felt foolish.

"I just mean that, without all of this, when we help everyone see reason, then... maybe he will too? Then you can try this conversation over. If you wanted to.”

“After we finish this,” she repeated weakly.

“Yes. Because right now, like it or not, we have to focus. Maybe we still have time to save them.”

Eilwyn nodded, swallowing hard. She stared up at the door to the Harrowing chamber. It was so big, so intimidating. She'd only ever seen it at night, when she'd been woken from a deep sleep and escorted here. Cullen had been there at the time, too, had been watching her from behind his helmet as she struggled to overcome her demons.

_I have to focus. They're waiting for me to move on._

Alistair looked up to the door of the Harrowing chamber, and then back to her.

“Whatever happens in there, whoever or whatever we find…” Alistair swallowed, then frowned. “I will protect you and the others. I swear it to you.”

At first, it seemed so obvious a thing that Eilwyn wondered why he had even said it aloud. But then she let out a breath of shock when his meaning hit her.

_He's saying he will protect the mages where our Templars will not._

"Alistair," she breathed, wanting something but unable to voice it or even mentally pinpoint what it was that she needed.

But Alistair merely inclined his head down to her, as if she didn't need to say a thing, then motioned towards the door at the top of the stairs.

“We have to go,” he said firmly.

Eilwyn swallowed her feelings and nodded in agreement, then began to walk with him to the stairs.

Wynne approached them, then, and Alistair reached back for Leliana where she was holding McWhistle loosely about his collar. Together, with Cullen sinking to his knees once more in prayer, Eilwyn and her companions made their way to the Harrowing Chamber.

Were it not for the hand at her side, for Alistair leading her ever upward, Eilwyn might have fallen. She might have given up there, wallowing in self-loathing as she sat in the blood of the Templars Cullen had loved more dearly than she herself could have ever hoped to be loved.

But Alistair did not falter. Not once. And neither did Eilwyn, once she had her wits about her.

In fact, she seemed to regain her strength the more and more distance she put between herself and the man she once knew. With every step, she left behind the ugly accusations Cullen had thrown at her in fear. With every step, she flexed her hands through her mana, drawing it out and about herself and her friends in a protective shield. And with every step, she knew with more and more finality that Cullen didn't know what it truly meant to be a Templar or a mage.

He didn't know what it was like to care for someone without shame, or without resentment. He didn't know the will of the Maker, none of them did. He had seen awful things, but he was still wrong to cast the blame to her and others like her. But most importantly, as Eilwyn set her foot on the top step and pushed open the doors to the chamber, she realized something extraordinary.

Cullen was wrong about her. Her compassion would save them all... she would make sure of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had thought this whole story would be shorter overall than my other slowburn fics. Sorry, that was before I started writing the tortured dumpster-fire that is Cullen Rutherford at 19 years old, trapped in the Circle tower, confronted by the woman he pined after for years in secret shame.
> 
> Also, because I'm apparently a masochist, I looked up a bunch of "angry Alistair" dialogues that he apparently brings out to the Warden when they do something he really can't abide by. Hearing his voice go dark and hearing him yell... oof. It was heartbreaking. Really put me in the mindset for this chapter.
> 
> It... got away from me. But I think it was necessary.
> 
> Thank you for sticking with me this long. A lot of fluff is coming your way very soon, sorry I keep ripping my girl's heart out in the meantime. After this we're going to do a lot of skipping about in the timeline in order to let her heal.


	12. Exhausted And Lonely

For a while, it wasn’t her. It was like looking at a memory, or perhaps a dream, where she was watching herself do everything, say everything, but was not present for it. Eilwyn knew that she was in control, some logical part of her knew that this was all her doing. She knew she was saying words, and that she was fighting, but it did not make her feel anything. When she tried to keep Uldred from shedding more blood, when she pleaded with him in desperation, she could hear the sadness in her own voice but could not feel it.

The dream continued, cold and numb to everything, until the fighting stopped. It wasn’t until she was facing the First Enchanter after everything was over that she even realized she was wounded.

A gash, cutting deeply through her robes past the light mail woven under her skirts, gushed with blood, enough to make her woozy. Claw marks drawing her leggings open on the outside of her thigh. She was bleeding out, and quickly, but there was no sense of urgency. Even as Eilwyn watched herself taking a knee, pressing shaky hands to her wound as she tried to heal herself, she could only feel a morbid fascination.

_What even hit me?_

Then Wynne cast warmth back into her veins as Leliana moved to Irving’s other side. Her flesh knit pathetically together, not enough to stop hurting but enough to keep her from dripping her life out onto the stone floor completely. Alistair offered her his hand to help her get to her feet, and she watched herself take it with an impassive, pale expression.

Together, limping and fragile, they all began to make their way back down to the first floor of the tower.

It was time to end this.

* * *

Much as she would’ve liked to, Eilwyn couldn’t bring forth anymore words after she asked Irving to join her in Redcliffe. She'd confirmed that they would help, and that was that, and then they left. Wynne had decided to join them, a fact that should have made Eilwyn happy. On any normal occasion, it would have.

Morrigan had tried to say something as they first boarded the boat, had started to ask her about how things went, but Eilwyn had just stared blankly ahead at the water. A moment later, Wynne had then put her hand on Eilwyn’s shoulder as they eased into the calm lake, but she had very gently shrugged the well-meaning gesture away. Eilwyn could hear people addressing her, but could not look up. It was as if she was wearing a veil about her shoulders that muted all noises, blurred all facial expressions. She could kind of discern that everyone was worried or sad, but it didn’t quite reach her in full clarity.

It set the tone, and now nobody dared open their mouths.

It wasn’t that Eilwyn was angry, even. Anger would be welcome! Anger would mean passion, vitriol, expression of self! This was… It just felt like there was little more she could say. About anything. Ever.

She had emptied herself of everything in order to secure her home. She had saved some, yes, and while that should make her happy, it felt like she had killed off a part of herself in order to do it.

_How does one heal from this?_

Halfway through the lake, Eilwyn looked up at the moon once again high overhead. They had taken so long within the tower that an entire day of light had passed them by. She was shrouded once more in the milky whiteness of stellar reflections, with dark clouds splotching the perimeter of the lake and steadily closing in.

She stared, unblinking, up at the sky until her eyes grew dry. Still, she could not seem to make herself cry. What ridiculousness it felt like, either she could not stop herself from weeping at every turn, or she could not weep when she most needed to grieve.

_Maybe I’m broken._

After a few quiet splashes of the guiding pole into the silent lakefront, a shush began to wash over their boat. A gentle wave of noise, a pitter-patter, and Eilwyn felt pricks of sensations in the back of her mind. Sadness, ache, a deeper sense of loss than she had ever experienced. It tore her words from her, to the point where she had to struggle to inhale.

She took in a deep breath, trying to banish the image of a shaken Cullen being propped up by Greagoir in a corner.

_Cullen._

He had caught her eye as she’d left, and his jaw had clenched hard enough for her to see the muscle jump in his neck from several meters away. Eilwyn had bitten down on her lip, words somehow bouncing about inside of herself but not breaking free. He hadn’t said anything, and neither had she. There was too much grief between them, it stretched too wide to be crossed so easily. When she’d left, she’d heard him let out a breathe he’d been holding.

_As if he was scared of me that whole time._

The lake smelled like rain, she realized. The nail in the coffin of homesickness sealed itself around Eilwyn as the mist gradually grew to a downpour. She still stayed as she was, her head tilted towards the fading light of the moon as the rainclouds encroached, and she wondered absently if anyone had ever drowned from this.

_From rainfall? Or from despair?_

The rain only grew more and more steady as they sailed, and Eilwyn heard Morrigan cursing as she pulled a hide from her pack. Wynne cast a milky, pale barrier overhead, but her mana was so depleted from everything that it stuttered and fell away after only a moment. Leliana began to shiver audibly, and Eilwyn heard Alistair say something to the redhead about using his shield for cover together. When McWhistle tucked his head underneath of her knee, burrowing against the rainy onslaught, Eilwyn took off her cloak and covered the mabari without even thinking.

The cold of the rain against her skin, the way it began to wash blood in dried flakes from her robes and her hair, shocked her into feeling again. She gasped from the chill of it, enduring it, swimming in it.

She let out a grunt as something heavy fell across her neck and shoulders. She didn’t register it for a moment, but she recognized the smell. Clean, with a spice she didn’t know the name for, a spice that came from far away.

Eilwyn looked back to where Sten was seated behind her, looking for confirmation that he’d just given her his blanket. He had his own shield high above Wynne’s head as she tucked deep into her cloak to shut out the cold. The rain fell upon him as it might a statue; he gave no reaction to indicate its chill.

In fact, he was looking at Eilwyn with his brow furrowed, as if he were deep in thought but did not want to say anything aloud. As if he barely noticed the rain at all.

Pulling the blanket tighter around herself, Eilwyn nodded her thanks. Sten inclined his head as well, and that was the end of it.

She turned back to where the boat was cutting a line towards the docks and prayed that there would be rooms at the inn when they made it to shore. Her companions deserved a warm bed and a night of rest before they continued on. Before they had to face death and demons and mages once more.

* * *

 

As soon as they had entered the tavern, Wynne ordered a small glass of wine and a few glasses of mead. Eilwyn tried to sit herself in the corner, so her mood would not infect others, but Alistair caught her and pulled out a chair for her at his side.

“C’mon, now,” he said, gentle and firm at once. “Don’t run off on us just yet.”

She sat between him and Leliana, and when he offered her his mug of mead, she politely took it from him and tasted a sip.

_Warm._

"How do you like it?" Alistair asked, and he sounded so hopeful.

Eilwyn licked her lips, capturing the touch of sweetness that lingered there, and nodded appreciatively. When she handed Alistair back the mug, he held his hand over hers for a moment. She glanced up at him, wanted to ask if it had been an accident, but then he caught her eyes with his.

"Now, I'm not saying the challenge should be decided tonight," Alistair said, his voice low and warm like the honeyed ale against her tongue. "But we should find you something you like for whenever we get that underway."

"Something I like?"

"Yeah," Alistair set the mug down, but he didn't drop his fingers. In fact, he traced against Eilwyn's knuckle with his thumb, a small half-moon that took her breath away. "Wynne likes wine. I'll bet that Leliana likes something sugared, maybe even some Tevinter nonsense-"

"Hey," Leliana piped up, casting a fake glare across the table at him. "You take that back."

"Fine, fine, Orlesian champagne," Alistair corrected with an absolutely abysmal Orlesian accent.

Leliana looked pleased, and sat back. He turned his attention back to Eilwyn, his expression playful and calm as he lowered his voice.

"Sten seems the type to enjoy a hearty brew. Like something made in a sack and buried for a few dozen decades. Something rotgut."

"Don't want him to hear you say that?" Wynne asked, turning to the Qunari whose face was set in a scowl.

One of his eyebrows was raised, and Alistair gave a stammering laugh.

"No, it's, not to assume anything about you- Sten, it's a game, lighten up!" he laughed nervously.

The Qunari lowered both brows, looking thoroughly disdainful of the conversation, but offering nothing.

"Okay, what about a nice, rich brandy?" Alistair posited.

Sten's expression shifted minutely, but even Eilwyn could catch it. He looked momentarily pleased.

"Ah-ha," Alistair said triumphantly. "I knew it. The kind with black currant, am I right? Maybe a bit of honeysuckle in the afternote?"

Eilwyn felt herself growing lighter, the emptiness within her slowly filling. Any moment now, she'd be able to join in. Any moment now.

With every joke, every comment, Alistair shifted his hand near hers. He traced against her index finger first. Then, he grazed his fingertips across the ridges of her knuckles. Now, they had both rested their hands against the bottom of the mug, Alistair's fingertips lightly pressed to Eilwyn's wrist. Her heart beat fast with every shift, eagerness pumping through her veins even as her mind felt chained and rooted into stillness.

She wondered absently if the others could see this little touch. They didn't seem to. They were tucking into the stew set before them, eating ravenously.

_Why am I the only one who isn't hungry?_

"I would rather be left out of this game, if possible," Morrigan stated primly. "Lest you say something gauche and liken my favorite drink to the blood of babies, or some other such nonsense."

Alistair erupted into a smile and burst out laughing.

"I don't have to! Oh Morrigan," he chuckled. "Thank you for trying to insult yourself on my behalf, but I was legitimately going to guess."

"Ugh," she raised an eyebrow at him, her spoon clanging back to her plate. "Well, go on then."

"Hmm."

Alistair glanced at Eilwyn, who was not smiling nor eating. She was watching him, unapologetically enraptured by his gregariousness. It was distracting her from her emptiness, and that seemed to almost be what Alistair was going for.

"Absinthe," Alistair conjectured.

With his free hand, the non-dominant one not tracing half-moons into Eilwyn's bare skin, he tried to lift some stew to his mouth. He missed, dropping the spoonful back to the bowl. He played it off as if he'd meant to do it, waving the empty spoon in Morrigan's direction.

"Something you sip, and judge others if they drink too much of. Am I right?"

Morrigan made a face as if she couldn't tell whether he was serious or not, then turned back to her dinner. Alistair gave a chuckle, as if her silence had made him triumphant. He turned back to Eilwyn.

"See?" he asked.

She shook her head, and Alistair gave a little, playful eyeroll.

"We have to find something to suit you. Whether it's wine, or brandy, or sackbrew that's been buried by McWhistle-"

She gave an unintentional snort at that, and Alistair's hand twitched at her wrist.

"I like this," he said, moving his hand to the mug and lifting it to his lips. When he swallowed, he set it back down between them. "I thought you might too. Here, feel free to have another taste if you like."

Eilwyn swallowed, then reached out. She hesitated a little, then took the mug once more. She placed her lips where Alistair's had been and drank, letting more of the mead flow over her tongue. It was a bit thick, sweet, with an aftertaste she couldn't place. As she held it in her mouth for a moment, she could feel a slight burn. Alcohol did that, then? She swallowed it, letting it trace a warm path down the center of her chest to her stomach. It was pleasant. Made her feel less cold within and without. She looked up and realized that Alistair was waiting for her approval.

He smiled at her in the candlelight, so unassuming, and Andraste preserve her… she wanted to smile back.

But it felt too... normal. Which felt wrong. Was she not mourning her friends’ losses? Was she not respecting their deaths? Their sacrifices? Her thoughts turning to the handsome man at her side, her cheeks growing warm as he set the mead down between them where she could easily reach it… was this not a sin?

_You make it one. Just by being who you are._

"So? Think this might be the beginning of your new favorite thing?" Alistair teased.

Eilwyn blinked hard, struck from her reverie by his words. She wanted to say yes. She wanted to answer him, tell him that it was delicious and she wanted this, wanted to play like this with him, but...

She shrugged, then pushed the mug closer to him and turned towards her stew. She avoided his gaze, and Alistair, to his credit, did not insist any further.

* * *

After the party finished their meal, Alistair and Sten took McWhistle by the collar and headed upstairs, following a pretty dwarven girl to their room. Morrigan offered to sleep outside, saying something caustic about wanting to avoid clumping too many mages together lest the Circle incident repeat itself. It had been heartless, but it hadn’t really penetrated the shell of nothingness Eilwyn felt about herself.

Rather than be offended, Leliana and Wynne convinced Morrigan to share their room with them, saying that it was too cold to sleep outside under a tarp. Morrigan acted suspicious, but did not fight the invitation. They left Eilwyn sitting at the table after they said goodnight.

Eilwyn was shown to her room later, perhaps a few minutes or maybe an hour later, once the innkeep remarked that she must be tired. She didn't realize it, but she had apparently been staring at the wall, thinking of nothing and everything, her food still untouched.

And now… she was in the center of a room to herself, confused and feeling stupid.

She hadn’t asked for this. She probably wouldn’t have, if she was being honest. She wasn’t speaking, sure, but she did not do well with being left to her own thoughts for so long. In the Circle, not speaking was a cry for help. In the Circle, it just… wasn’t done. Being silent and brooding worried the Templars, she realized now, made you look suspicious, and so someone always approached her when she was like this and helped her.

_I need someone to help me._

No. Eilwyn shook her head hard enough to send her tresses tumbling forward in a heap over her shoulder. She had been enough of a burden tonight, what with inflicting that pathetic conversation with Cullen onto her friends as she had. She could not keep taking and taking and taking from them. Their reserves were low, she was willingto bet.

In an effort to make herself go to sleep, Eilwyn went about her nightly routine. She brushed out her hair with long, steady strokes. She counted them, hoping that it would lull her mind into sleepiness. After the three-hundredth stroke, she gave up and went to take a hot bath.

_One perk, perhaps the only perk, to being a mage. I don’t have to wait on hot water._

Eilwyn ran her hands through the tub of clean, crisp water, casting warmth into it until it was steaming and soothing. Garment by garment, she stripped down.

First, the robes. Inlayed with plates of finely pounded clay and petrified wood, the bustier held its shape as she unbuckled it and slipped the sleeves from her arms. The fabric itself had very finely crafted mail sewn into it, adding to its weight but not so much that it hindered her casting. Still, it was heavy enough. It felt good to take it off, to rub loose the bunches of muscles that had bruised beneath it as she fought.

Next were her leggings. She peeled them off with difficulty, the dried blood and viscera from an open wound on her leg catching on its split fabric. She pried very carefully, wary not to tear the gash open anew, and when her skin was fully exposed to the air she let out a gasp of relief.

It wasn’t as bad as she’d thought in the tower. Wynne had healed her so quickly, it held not even a scab. But it was still deep, angry, inflamed pink, and it looked as if someone had mushed their fingers into bread dough.

_It could have been worse. I’m lucky to be alive._

Drawing her palm down over the puckered tissue lining the outside of her right thigh, Eilwyn focused her own magic with purpose. She knit her flesh further, stitching as best she could. When she pulled her hand away, the wound was still mottled pink and red, but it she could no longer stick her fingertips in the divots left behind. Pushing the thought away, Eilwyn continued disrobing.

She pulled the rags of her smallclothes from her thighs, tossing them aside. Little by little, she unwound the binding she kept about her chest. The knot had come loose sometime during the last battle, and the fabric had begun to chafe her right beneath where the curve of her breasts folded onto her ribs. Absently, she massaged her rib-cage with one hand as she peeled off her socks with the other. Without thinking, she smiled.

_I wonder if he really borrowed a pair from me, or if he was just trying to make me laugh._

As soon as the thought related to Alistair popped into her mind, Eilwyn’s brain seemed to shut down. There was no more conscious thought, merely robotic action. She stepped into the bathtub, cleaned herself with mechanical, slow diligence, and then sat there. Staring. Looking off into the distance as rain beat down with steady insistence against the windowpane and the roof of the inn.

Beyond her, she could hear the women in the next room speaking. It sounded like Leliana and Wynne for the most part, but every once in a while, Morrigan’s dry retorts could be sussed out. That was to her right.

To her left, she could hear Sten giving McWhistle commands in a low, patient tone. They were all monosyllabic, thought, so Eilwyn couldn’t make out what he was ordering the mabari to even do. McWhistle, to his credit, was keeping his barking to a minimum. Every once in a while, she could hear Alistair’s laugh. It stabbed at her. She longed for it, and envied it. Hearing him so relaxed at dinner had suffused her with petty jealousy that left her feeling ashamed and childish.

_Alistair has cried his share._

_Doesn't he deserve to be happy?_

With a sigh, Eilwyn pushed herself deeper into the tub. She slid further and further until her ears were submerged, and she could no longer hear her companions. She could no longer hear the rain. She could only hear the steady beating of her own heart thumping dully in her ears.

* * *

It was cold in the bed. The fireplace was far from the mattress, and Eilwyn eventually gave up. She pushed herself up, rolling with difficulty as the skin on her thigh tugged tight, and went to sit by the hearth. To keep herself busy, she turned her robes and Sten’s blanket over and over until she was satisfied they were dry. Maybe an hour had passed? Hoping that her body could finally collapse and recover, Eilwyn forced herself to get in the bed.

It didn’t work. Sleep did not come.

No matter how she chased it, it did not come.

Reciting the Chant, listing off potion recipes, saying her alphabet backwards and forwards in as slow a mental voice as she could… all those things did was let her mind rest enough for her brain to conjure up more memories. Not enough to let her sleep.

The memories were flashes of images.

She saw her mother, arms outstretched, lilypads surrounding her. She saw Cullen as he once was, standing in the chapel, back turned, one of his gloved hands touching a long, lit match to votives one by one as he prayed. She saw herself, back when she was younger, even younger than when Cullen knew her, with her head sticking out a window as she inhaled the lightning smell on the edge of a horizon with a passing storm.

_Sleep. Please. Please, just let me sleep._

Eilwyn rested her cheek on her knees, her legs tucked up to her chest as she stared at the fireplace from the center of her bed. She stayed that way for a while, her eyes unseeing. Time passed in strange increments. She couldn’t tell if she was merely blinking, or if hours had gone by. With the white noise of the rain washing away all sense of time past the inn itself, she only had the fire to go by.

Her first night in Kinloch, she’d stayed up much like this. She’d listened to the rise and fall of other children’s breathing, and she’d thought the night was never going to end. She did not sleep until she had cried herself into an exhausted stupor, and when the bell came for breakfast the following morning she missed it completely.

Now, laying in the dark silence of the inn as the last of her fire burned down, Eilwyn felt a cloying panic clutch at her chest. She didn’t want to do that. Not this time, not when she had people who needed her. Her mind racing, her body past the point of being exhausted, the room cold and devoid of everything except her memories, Eilwyn knew she would not sleep like this.

And not sleeping was _not_ an option. Connor needed her at her best. She had to be ready to meet mages at Redcliffe, to enter the Fade, to do battle once more. Which meant that she needed to pass out. Now. Not later.

_But I don't know if I can sleep alone._

At that thought, Eilwyn knew what she had to do.

She contemplated going into the room with the ladies, asking to sleep by them. But she had already made a display of herself in front of Leliana and Wynne back in the tower, and her shame still burned dully in her veins. Eilwyn bit her lip.

 _Not an option_.

That left the others. She knew that Sten had led McWhistle to their room, and so he was sleeping with the men. She could grab her mabari, maybe? Lead him back to sleep at her side? That could be a good compromise, and nobody would have to confront her about it in the morning. The mere thought of intruding made her feel uncomfortable. They always respected her space, and she needed to do the same for them, but this was less mortifying than humbling herself to the other women.

She could be in and out. Sten always slept with the flap of his tent open, keeping a watchful control over his surroundings even when unconscious, so maybe it was the same with an inn and he'd left the door unlocked.

Eilwyn grabbed up the extra blanket and wrapped it around herself. Her feet were freezing, but her boots were still wet, so it couldn’t be helped. Barefoot, she unlocked her door as quietly as possible and shut it behind her.

Her eyes adjusted quickly to the hallway. Soft candles were lit in sconces low along the walls, presumably to let insomniacs like herself find their way easily to the front desk downstairs if they needed. Eilwyn let one hand trail along the wall as she walked, and her blanket made a little train behind her that let out a soft shushing noise as she moved. She almost squeaked in happiness when she found the room next door was not only unlocked, but cracked as she thought it would be.

Leaning forward, Eilwyn let out a breath.

“McWhistle. C’mere boy.”

Nothing. A small shuffle of blankets, just someone turning over in their sleep.

Eilwyn frowned, then pushed at the door a bit. She wanted to double check that it was the right room, that she hadn’t whispered into the girls’ by accident.

The room was still warmly lit by the embers in their fireplace as well, the men’s gear drying on chairs they had set along the hearth. The smell was rather strong at first, bodies and wet and dog all together, but then Eilwyn’s nose adjusted to it and it became almost pleasant.

The glow from the fire was so faint that she could only see outlines and shadows, not color. She glanced about the room, searching for her dog.

The bed was small, and occupied. Tucked into the back corner, it looked to be piled high with blankets.

_Looks so warm._

She glanced around, not wanting to disturb the blanket-pile unless it was the last resort.

By the fire, laying on his back and snoring gently as he stretched across a long couch, was Sten. No McWhistle. Eilwyn shuffled further into the room, and she tried calling again in a more emphatic whisper-hiss.

“McWhistle!”

It came out a bit harsher than she'd intended for it to, and immediately Eilwyn clapped a hand to her mouth and froze. But Sten didn’t move in response to it. In fact, when Eilwyn examined his sleeping form more closely, it was almost as if he were willfully keeping very still. Like he was only pretending to be asleep. Eilwyn felt a tug of warmth at the thought.

She heard a low whine, the kind animals make when they stretch in their sleep, come from the bed. Shuffling quietly over, her blankets trailing behind her, Eilwyn made her way to the back corner.

There must have been about five quilts on the bed. They were rising and falling very gently, so she knew it was occupied. Alistair had to be here, because he wasn’t anywhere else, but McWhistle was here too. She knew the mabari wasn’t fond of sleeping alone either. He would have curled up with Alistair at the first chance.

“McWhistle,” Eilwyn hissed. “Come on out, buddy.”

Nothing happened.

Hesitating, her hand hovering for a moment over the blanket pile, Eilwyn finally gave in and shoved whoever was under them. Just a bit. Just enough to rouse them.

“Wake up,” she breathed.

There was a grunt from underneath the blankets, and then a shifting as they were pulled back.

“Ugh, I’m up, I’m up,” Alistair lifted his head, eyes barely even open. “Mmm… Eilwyn?”

She froze, her mouth agape.

_You expected this. Say something._

"I... uh..."

_Say something, you git!_

“What’s wrong?” Alistair asked, running a hand over his eyes and then back through his hair. He sighed, obviously struggling to wake up from a very deep sleep. “We gotta go? Something bad?”

“No,” she whispered, setting a hand on his shoulder to push him back to the pillows. “No, I’m sorry. Go back to sleep.”

“Mmm,” he grunted, then sighed before opening his eyes a bit more fully. “No, it's okay. Tell me what's wrong, I'm already up.”

“It's just… I didn’t want to sleep alone and I thought-”

She cut herself off, embarrassed.

“I’m sorry, it’s so stupid,” Eilwyn whispered.

She shook her head, frozen in place, the blanket pulled tight about her shoulders. She ducked so that she could rest her lips on the edge of the quilt, so that hopefully Alistair wouldn’t see her cheeks reddening in shame. She felt like such a child, for so many reasons. Eilwyn scrunched her eyes shut, expecting a rebuke.

“Hey," he grunted, stretching a bit. "It’s not... that's not stupid.”

She didn't say anything, and for a long minute the only sounds were the tiny pops from the fire and the sound of her heart in her own ears. But then, after a few breaths had passed, she heard Alistair let out a long exhale. Eilwyn looked up in time to see Alistair lift the blankets up at the corner.

He folded them back, throwing them down and open before he fell exhausted against the pillows once more with a grunt. His eyes were still closed, his expression groggy and relaxed. And there he waited.

_He… wants me to lay down?_

For a moment, Eilwyn wondered if he’d fallen back asleep as she hesitated, but then he sighed again and forced one eye open.

“You don’t want to sleep alone, right?” he asked, his voice husky from sleep, as if his vocal cords needed warming up before they could be used properly.

Eilwyn swallowed hard, the sound of his sleepy voice sending a shiver of longing through her, and then shook her head.

“Well, I don't mind if you don't mind. Can’t promise you won’t have nightmares, though. The bed smells like dog. Nightmare dog,” Alistair muttered, sounding as if he was already falling back asleep before she even answered. As if he hadn’t fully woken up before this conversation in the first place.

It broke Eilwyn of her worries.

Alistair’s voice was unassuming, sweet, and so familiar that it ached. It overrode the memories of the tower, both far back and recent. She wanted nothing more than this, nothing more than to lay down and feel as if she was no longer alone.

Pulling her blankets tighter about herself, Eilwyn sat down on the edge of the bed. If this was what he really meant, if he was really okay with it, then she would be too.

Instinctively, because it certainly wasn’t with much awareness, Alistair pushed down the blankets on his right side further for her. He shifted out of the way, pulling his arm back over his own chest to make room. Eilwyn couldn’t see what he was wearing in the dim light, but he did have clothes on. At the very least a shirt, which was a comfort.

_This should feel… indecent, right? It’s not proper. It’s not… what's done._

But it felt natural. Like taking his cup at dinner and sipping from the same side, or teasing each other about borrowed clothing. There was no awkwardness between them. They’d seen too much of each others' pain. Maybe it made the small things, the indecent things, not matter in the long run.

Eilwyn let the blanket she’d brought from her room fall halfway to the floor, and she brought her feet up to tuck them into the quilts Alistair had layered over himself. When their ankles brushed, she yanked her leg away in embarrassment, but he didn’t even seem to notice. She had this absurd desire, then, to lift the blanket and see what socks he was wearing. To check and see if they were hers.

Eilwyn blushed at the thought, and settled against the pillows without reaching for the quilts.

She kind of expected him to curve his body towards her, or perhaps to embrace her. A part of her was dreading it, and a part of her prayed for it. What should she do if it happened? It was like a scene from one of the novels Leliana had swiped from the Redcliffe library, where the heroine is placed in a compromising situation and has to remain a lady about it.

_Should… should I be scared?_

But Alistair did not turn to curve his body about her. He did not shuffle his weight onto hers as he had while they played in the tower. He did not even look her in the eyes as she snuggled into the pillow on her side of the mattress. His eyes were closed, his expression relaxed and comfortable and completely lacking in devious intent.

_He doesn’t smell like dog at all._

With that thought, Eilwyn did not feel compromised. She felt tired. Her eyes hurt from when she’d cried earlier in the day, her sinuses sore and swollen. Her mind was racing with thoughts, memories, and her body was battered and torn. And Alistair looked like he was barely on the cusp of consciousness, only awake in order to secure her comfort before he fell back into his dreams.

"The..." Eilwyn paused, then whispered a little louder. "The blankets are caught."

Alistair groaned, then heaved himself forward. He grabbed the corner of the quilts from where Eilwyn's feet had tangled it, and with a few gentle pulls had tugged it free. Sighing loudly, he tucked her in with a heavy hand, let her snuggle down into the warmth of the bed, and then flipped over onto his back again with his arm crossed over his chest away from her.

She turned onto her side, facing opposite him as she tried to keep a modicum of distance between them. But she barely had the edge of the bed like this. It wasn’t that comfortable. After a few nervous heartbeats, she decided to shift further towards him She pressed backwards into Alistair’s side, and he shuffled to allow her more room. She did it again, and then a third time, until she was finally away from the edge enough to relax. With a simultaneous sigh, the two of them grew comfortable. And it seemed that, as quickly as he had woken, Alistair was asleep once more.

The fire popped in the hearth, and Sten’s fluttery snores sounded more natural now. Eilwyn laid there on her side, confused. How had she ended up here? In the bed of a man? She could have gone to Wynne! To Leliana! What had possessed her to-

With a jolt, she felt a tongue at her ankle. She barely withheld a squeal as she realized McWhistle was at the foot of the bed, held trapped by Alistair’s legs as he slept. She reached down, lifted the blankets to allow the dog to lift his head up a few centimeters. In the dark, she saw his teeth flash as he lolled his mouth open in a smile that turned to a yawn. Eilwyn called to him with a few flicks of her fingers.

“C’mere, buddy,” she whispered. "Come on out."

Groggily, just as sleepy as Alistair had been, McWhistle crawled slowly up from the end of the mattress, his paws digging painfully into her calves as he tried to burrow out of the blanket fort. He struggled for a minute to get free of Alistair’s legs, and Eilwyn burned at the idea of having to reach down to shift his thighs out of the way. But in the end there was no need; McWhistle wriggled free, almost falling off the bed in the process, and climbed up towards Eilwyn’s head.

When he was on Eilwyn’s other side, effectively pushing her back into Alistair’s, McWhistle let out another satisfied yawn and set his head back down onto the cushions. When she pet his face, smoothing back the wrinkles of his jowls, he gave her a pathetic little lick before flopping hard onto the cushion and exhaling deeply. Pretty soon, her mabari's jowls were fluttering gently with every little snore.

Pressed between two warm, sleepy bodies, Eilwyn felt fatigue shift into gauzy relaxation. Her mind cleared, memories at bay.

The fire began to die, and Alistair shifted onto his side facing away from her. He pressed back against her a bit, the heat of his recovering muscles warming the bed so effectively the fire had no reason to be stoked. As she grew more and more languid, Eilwyn followed suit and arched back so that her head was resting on his pillow instead of her own. It was so comfortable that for a minute, she felt no pain from the previous encounters. She wondered absently if this was what having a sibling might have been like. Someone to offer you refuge, without asking questions.

_No... I think... this is what friends do. True friends._

The rain beyond their room continued, washing everything clean outside in its wake, reminding them that the world was still cold and dreary beyond the inn. But inside of it, there was warmth, there was companionship. Draping her arm across her mabari, snuggling deeper against the comfort of Alistair’s heat, Eilwyn was finally able to drift into peaceful, dreamless sleep.

* * *

Eilwyn woke up only once. The fire had gone out long ago, the room falling into a slight chill, but the blankets were incredibly comfortable still. She shifted sleepily over onto her other side, to give her injured leg a break from how she’d been laying on it, and she felt something soft hit her knee. Alistair’s body had been replaced with a pillow.

Not replaced, really. She could see his shoulder rising and falling beyond it, so he was still sleeping in the bed. But sometime in the night, he’d placed his pillow there between the two of them. It was longways, hiding his face and torso from her as she shifted more comfortably under the blankets.

A nod to privacy, perhaps? An extra shield for her modesty? A way to keep her from elbowing him in the middle of the night?

In any case, Eilwyn did not think long of it. She fell back into her own pillow, breathing in slow and deep until she was floating away on restful nothingness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After a long chapter of hurt, here is a long chapter of comfort!! I think from here the sweetness will have a chance to explode, so let's all cross our fingers that these two don't stay so oblivious for much longer.
> 
> With stuff like this, when Eilwyn is panicked and stuck in her head, I really wish I could explain Alistair's side of things. I think it would be interesting ;)
> 
> Also like... Eilwyn is wallowing a bit, but you know for a fact she's gonna remember her melodramatic thoughts and laugh/blush about them later. She's just seen some shit haha. She'll be okay <3


	13. Autumn Strolls

Eilwyn woke up alone, spooning a pillow so hard that she had lines in her skin from the folds of the cloth pillowcase. For a moment, she didn’t remember where she was, and then the night’s events came flooding back to her.

_ Kinloch Hold was overrun. _

_ I killed Uldred and restored order, kind of. _

_ I managed to convince the First Enchanter to help both the Grey Wardens and Connor. _

_ We’re to go to Redcliffe. _

_ I slept in Alistair’s bed last night. _

Shame washed over her so quickly that she had to hold her face in both of her palms. Her heart beat so quickly that she didn’t trust herself to cool the air about her blushing cheeks, she just let out a long groan. How could she have done something so childish? Walking herself to her friend’s room instead of sucking it up and sleeping by herself? She was a  _ Grey Warden _ ! There was no time for such pitiful antics!

_ Maker take me, how embarrassing. _

After collecting herself, she looked to the side of the bed Alistair had slept on.

It was crumpled, still indented from where his body had lain. She slipped a hand out, hesitating, and found it was still warm. He must not have gotten up until a few moments ago. Maybe an hour?

_ How did he crawl over me without waking me? _

The bed was against the wall on his side. To get up before her, Alistair would have had to straddle her and wiggle free of the blankets without disturbing her. An acrobatic feat indeed.

Eilwyn slammed herself down into the mattress, groaning in embarrassment a second time, even louder. The image of Alistair over her, careful not to disturb her, was so pleasant and wrong and beautiful that she scarcely knew what to do with it.

_ Why do my thoughts always go there? _

Eilwyn took a deep breath, allowing herself a split second to enjoy the way Alistair’s side of the bed kind of smelled like him, and then she propped herself up and looked around.

There was no armor, no packs, and no McWhistle. Sten had folded up blankets and placed them on the couch, or maybe Alistair had. The room was empty, and she had no idea how the bustle of the two men getting ready for the day hadn’t woken her.

_ I must have needed the sleep. _

Noise came from the open door. Maybe they had cracked it before they left, and it had floated ajar like it was? She could clearly hear everything from the landing below.

Apparently, the others were already downstairs preparing to leave. She could hear Leliana laughing and McWhistle’s barks. Wynne said something about how the rain had just barely begun to let up. They were in for a dreary, long trudge back to Redcliffe if the weather didn’t improve soon, but it was looking rather positive.

That was autumn for you. It was chilly, damp, and this shade of rich, earthy brown that Eilwyn kind of liked. Then, when it wasn’t raining, it was gorgeous and crisp and fiery. It had to be Eilwyn’s favorite season, and this year she would experience it fully, without the restrictions of the tower for once.

Sweet Andraste, it would feel good to be outside again.

Eagerly stretching her feet out towards the floor, Eilwyn’s bare legs immediately covered in goosebumps. The room was freezing without the fire lit and the bodies to warm it. She wished she could tuck back into bed and just wait one more day. Just recover one more day.

But no. She knew she had to wake up.

She made her way to her own bedroom, sneaking down the hall with her blanket draped about her shoulders, and once she was locked in her chambers she changed into her various layers. They helped the warmth a tad. Her thigh was no longer sore, just a bit tight about the healed skin, which she was rather proud of. However, she hadn’t had the energy to mend the clothes like she’d mended her flesh. She was grabbing up her staff and staring down at the gap in her armor from the wound, and so as she left she almost ran headlong into Alistair’s chest.

“Woah!” he caught her shoulders, setting her upright as she bumped him. “Perfect timing, I was just about to come get you!”

Eilwyn blinked up at him in shock.

“Am I late? Oh Maker, I must have really overslept-”

“No, no,” he laughed, and his large palms fell away from her arms. “We all made a decision to let you sleep as long as possible. You’re actually up early, as far as I’m concerned.”

“Oh. You’d… you all would do that for me?” she asked, smiling up at him. “Let me shirk my Wardenly duties?”

“Well, yes,” he chuckled. “If any of us deserves a moment, I’d say it would be you.”

Eilwyn swallowed hard, but her throat felt too dry. Alistair grimaced apologetically.

“Sorry. Don’t think on it. You just woke up, and,” he gave her an overly fake little bow, “might I say, you are looking refreshed and radiant.”

She raised an eyebrow at him, smirking despite herself at his antics.

“Is that a dig at how ratty my clothes still are?” she asked impishly.

“What? No, no, I hadn’t noticed the gash on your leg at all, what are you talking about?” Alistair answered, giving her a wink as he did so.

Eilwyn covered her smile with the back of one hand, crossing her other arm over her chest as she did so. She didn’t want to look too eager, not after how good he felt last night at her side.

Just the thought made her want to hide her face in her hands.

“If you’ve got your clothes all set, you don’t have to worry about anything else,” Alistair said happily, straightening up once more. “Leliana packed your stuff for you, and Wynne has some breakfast she’s going to take with us for whenever you’re hungry.”

“Sounds like you’ve taken care of everything,” Eilwyn said appreciatively. “How can I ever repay you?”

Alistair flushed, glancing up at the ceiling with a smile playing about his lips.

“Give it some time,” he murmured, his voice low and jovial. He looked at her once more, so confident in the gray of the morning light. “Knowing me, I’ve probably missed something important you can kick me for later.”

With that, he brushed past her with heavy footsteps. He was making his way towards where the women had slept. When he got to the doorway, he turned back to her.

“Wynne said she left her components bag up here,” he said. “That’s… that’s all I’m up here for. You can go downstairs if you want, if you’ve got your stuff with you.”

“Oh,” Eilwyn said, her heart in her throat. “Right.”

It all came back to her in a rush, now that she’d spoken with him. She watched Alistair move into the women’s room and she remembered snuggling against him in the night. She remembered the pillow he’d placed between them, but also the way he’d continued to sleep by her side instead of moving to the floor. He had made her feel safe, like a friend should.

But, should that have changed something between them? Truthfully, she had been expecting awkwardness. Maybe a hesitant check-in, or a follow-up about how she was feeling. But nothing was different so far. Alistair was still the same old Alistair he’d always been, and she really did feel well-rested and calm, even knowing that she had been curled up at his side merely an hour before.

_ Ugh. What does that mean? _

She contemplated confronting him. Maybe thanking him. But when Alistair came out of the room, Eilwyn decided she didn’t want to ruin a perfectly nice morning with emotions just yet.

“Did you need something?” Alistair asked, casually moving past her to take the steps two at a time. When she didn’t answer him right away, he paused at the landing in the middle and looked up at her with his lips parted in curiosity. Eilwyn smiled, then shook her head.

“No. I think I’m okay, actually,” she said.

Alistair paused, a slow grin tracing across his lips.

“Glad to hear it,” he answered, and then he was gone.

From below, Eilwyn could hear a call for her to come join them, and McWhistle’s eager bark.  Off she went, praying to the Maker that the rain would hold off just a bit longer. She needed some sunshine today quite desperately.

* * *

“Alistair.”

“Mmm.”

“Have you got a minute?” Eilwyn asked, her feet crunching on some dead leaves lining their path. Several meters ahead of them, Wynne was speaking with Leliana about the Chantry, and Morrigan was reading as she walked behind the two women. Sten was back by Bodahn, who had caught up to them in order to journey back to Redcliffe together.

So that left Eilwyn with her other Warden in the middle, strolling through the glades of changing leaves, making their way to the Arl and to Connor. Every once in a while, they would throw a stick for McWhistle, who would bound after it gleefully. In the fresh air, with sun shining down on them in small increments, it felt almost like the Circle was something that had happened years ago instead of yesterday.

_ And Alistair’s by my side. What could be better? _

“I am at your service,” he said, and his voice refocused Eilwyn on her question.

“Can you tell me about the Grey Wardens?” she asked him.

“Such as they are,” Alistair laughed, picking up a twig to swipe at the air like he was wielding a wand. “What do you want to know?”

“Were any of them musical?”

“Oh yes,” he said. He turned to her with a look of serenity about him, instead of pain.

_ The wounds are healing. _

The idea gave her a sort of sad peace, and she managed to smile back at him in anticipation.

“The lute our little bard plucks if we’re lucky? The humming around the campfire at night? That is nothing compared to dozens of bagpipes and snare drums playing an anthem for our marches,” Alistair said. His voice was laden with pride, heavy and rich. Eilwyn felt her heart pump harder at the mere thought.

“Flutes too?”

“Yep,” he took the twig and snapped it in half in his hands, then held those two parts together and snapped again. Like he was looking to keep his hands busy as they chatted. “Marching with the song echoing from the mountains was… incredible. I only got to do it once, and I was in the back. And I was a bit of a pack-mule at the time, all covered in shields and bags since I had barely Joined. But… yes. It was still incredible.”

“I wish I could have heard it,” she answered.

Alistair glanced over at her, momentarily pausing in his twig snapping.

“You know,” he said lightly. “You would have been fought over. By the other Grey Wardens, I mean.”

“What?” Eilwyn turned, swatting at his shoulder. “They'd all want me for a pack-mule?”

“No, no,” Alistair laughed, coltishly bopping her wrist with his twig wand. “I’ve seen you rub your shoulders after a day’s walk, miss. I doubt you could trek that far with more than one bag on your back.”

Eilwyn bit her lip, deliberately stepping on a pile of leaves to hear them crunch under her boots.

_ He sees that? _

“Then what?”

“They’d have fought to be close to you,” Alistair said, softer this time, shrugging a bit as he did.

“They would not have!” Eilwyn laughed.

“Trust me,” he stated, his tone suggesting he was absolutely serious. “You would have fit right in. You would have had at least-”

He made an overexaggerated show of tallying some invisible numbers on his fingers.

“-at least thirty people who would have wanted you to be their friend on any given day. That would have made my life very hard, I don’t know if I would have had a chance to dig into your busy schedule.”

“You think I’d be that social?” Eilwyn asked, beaming.

“Oh yes,” Alistair nodded sagely. “The Wardens were a family. You would have fit right in.”

Eilwyn clenched her jaw, turning from him so that he could not see the tenderness in her face. She knew it must be showing, knew she couldn’t hardly keep such an emotion hidden.

_ I see what he’s trying to do. _

“Thank you, Alistair,” she said softly. She kicked a little pebble out in front of her, and she watched as it skittered unevenly along the path.

“Do…” he nudged her shoulder with his own, and Eilwyn glanced up at him with what she hoped was an air of suspicion. He cleared his throat. “Do you know what makes a mage lose her head?”

“Excuse me?” she asked, her playful stare turning a bit more real in her shock.

“No, it’s like,” Alistair stuttered, his smile falling a bit crooked, “it’s a joke, play along.”

“O-oh,” Eilwyn blinked, but she didn’t remember the setup. “Sorry. Ask me again.”

“Right,” he grinned once more. “Do you know what makes a mage lose her head?”

“No, what?”

“Being in a state of de-lyrium.”

She snorted despite herself.

“That’s pretty bad,” Eilwyn said.

“Aw, really?” Alistair winced. “I thought it was funny. Took me all morning to think of.”

“Were you waiting to pull it out until just now?”

“Hey,” he spread his arms wide, walking backwards in front of her with a look of smugness about him. “Impeccable timing is my specialty.”

“So is tripping into traps,” Eilwyn chuckled. “Look where you’re going!”

“Why?” Alistair asked, dropping his hands but continuing to walk backwards. “You can’t warn me if you spot any traps up ahead?”

“You’re blocking my line of sight. How can I warn you about them if I can’t see them?”

“Okay, then what if I walk like this?”

Alistair spread his legs a bit, sauntering in a manner that looked like a cross between a gangly, newborn calf and a rocking horse. Eilwyn covered her mouth, laughing more freely now.

“Don’t look at my face, Eilwyn, look at the ground!”

“I am!” she cried.

“Should I lift my arms, too? Wave them around a bit? Would that distract you?” he asked, right as his boot heel caught on the edge of the curve in the path.

Eilwyn watched Alistair’s expression change from easygoing smugness into bewilderment within the span of a heartbeat. He tried to reposition his feet, keep his balance, but his one ankle caught on the other. After a bit of a scramble, he sat down hard, letting out a very ungracious  _ unf _ as he did so. Eilwyn sidestepped past the pile of twig remnants that fell from his hands, trying her best to disguise her smile.

“See?” Eilwyn burst out past her giggles. “I told you to watch where you were going.”

Somehow, Alistair looked less than upset. In fact, it was like he was happy he’d fallen, for some strange reason. He gazed up at her as she passed by him, false indignance written in the way he pouted out his lower lip as she breezed by.

“I’m hurt,” he complained.

“You have potions.”

“No, I meant my feelings,” Alistair clarified. “How could you just keep walking without even helping me back up?”

“Like this,” Eilwyn called over her shoulder, then she quickly turned to face forward again. She was having fun with this. “You stay right there, where it’s safe. I’m going to check for traps all the way to Redcliffe. If it’s safe, I’ll send a raven, and you can rejoin-”

Before she could finish her sentence, she felt an arm around her neck, gentle enough that she knew it wasn’t an attack. She grabbed at the gauntlet across her chest, leaning forward instinctively. Alistair held her briefly against his chest with both arms as she squealed with laughter, hugging her close as she tried to keep walking with him on her back.

“No, don’t call my bluff,” he begged. “I’m coming, and I’m looking the right way this time, too. Here, look. I’ll make it up to you.”

“Oh?”

Alistair let her go and rejoined her at her side. The sunshine had finally begun to come out, illuminating them in splashes of light and shadow through the final leaves on the trees stretching up and over the path they were taking. Alistair’s eyes shone bright, renewed. He must have gotten such good sleep last night, to look the way he did.

_ Either that, or he’s getting used to death and loss. _

_ Am… am I getting used to it as well, then? _

“Why is a bartender better than a doctor?” he asked.

Eilwyn pursed her lips together, shunning the dark thoughts. Just for a minute.

“Do not indulge him!” Morrigan called from up ahead before she could answer. “My ears are going to begin bleeding any second now if he continues.”

“Oh-ho! Making a pretty lady laugh, and a witch’s ears bleed?” Alistair shot back. He glanced down at Eilwyn and winked. “Two birds with one stone.”

She cast a smile up in Morrigan’s direction, but Morrigan was absorbed in her book and facing away. Unperturbed, Eilwyn looked back at Alistair.

“You think I’m pretty, then?”

“Of course I do,” he replied, nudging her a bit with his elbow. “Now ask me.”

It took Eilwyn a second. She struggled to stop smiling long enough to do as he said.

“Okay, fine, why is he better than a doctor?”

“Because a bartender can always cure what’s ale-ing you!”

Before she could laugh this time, Alistair reached out and gave her a pinch above her hip. Eilwyn crumpled into giggles, swatting desperately to move his hand away.

“No tickle fight!” she ordered, and Alistair held both hands in front of himself as if he were trying to prove he wouldn’t go for her again. But when he lunged for her waist, Eilwyn was ready.

She knew his tactics by now, knew that when he got into a mood like this, someone was getting wrestled. It would either end with her pinned, or McWhistle pinned, or like that one time Sten had dislocated Alistair’s shoulder by accident. There was no stopping him, there was only redirection.

Regardless, Eilwyn could see in his eyes that he wanted to roughhouse, so she knew better than to drop her guard. When Alistair moved to grab her, she twirled and used his momentum against him. He pitched forward, exposing his back. Without a second thought, Eilwyn hopped up onto it, hooking her arms where he strapped his shield in order to gain purchase.

Her weight threw him off balance at first, and one knee bent almost to the ground. Had Alistair not been laughing, Eilwyn would have worried she’d taken it too far.

"You're fast, I'll give you that!" Alistair stated. He grabbed her wrists to hold her in place and twirled in a slow circle. It was enough to lift Eilwyn's feet off the ground as he spun.

“Thou art now my steed for the day, my pretty,” she said, using her crone voice once more. Alistair readjusted his grip, grabbing her forearms instead of her wrists, and for a heartstopping second Eilwyn thought the game was over. Her mind raced, panic overtaking her so much so that she kind of kicked out against his calves for him to let her go.

_ I don’t know how to roll out of it if he tosses me. Is it gonna hurt? _

“Here, ready?” he asked, and she didn’t know what she was supposed to be ready for. But then he did a little squat motion while pulling her arms at the same time, and effectively yanked her up high enough to where she could hold onto his neck past his shield. She latched on out of instinct, her robes hiking up about her hips as she brought her legs to either side of Alistair’s waist. He caught her under her knees, holding her in place, and then craned his neck to talk back to her.

“Shall I check for traps, my lady?”

He was so close. Had their faces been so close together before now in the daylight? His eyes were so beautiful, bright brown in the gauzy autumn sunlight, that she almost didn't answer his question.

“Please do so,” Eilwyn agreed. “Hup-hup!”

She squeezed her knees a bit, the motion maybe less effective than it must be for horses. Alistair was wearing heavy plate, after all. But then he switched his arms to where they were crossed behind his own back, and she felt him readjust her once more as if she weighed nothing. She was sitting on his forearms, comfortable and supported, and she easily locked her ankles about the front of his waist without a second thought.

She was going to be ready if he started running.

But then Alistair went bowlegged again, squatting low and sidestepping back and forth in the same ridiculous manner as when he’d been walking backwards. He was mumbling under his breath, a very determined mantra of “traps, traps, where are the traps” in a singsong voice. Eilwyn buried her face in the nape of his neck and gave a little squeal of delight.

"So ridiculous," she managed to get out.

"What are you talking about?" Alistair asked, jostling her a bit. "This is a super secret Grey Warden ranger tactic, and I would be taking notes if I were you. Where was I?"

"Traps?"

"Ah yes, traps, traps-"

It felt good, to let it all be for a moment. To let herself just be. The hurt was still there; even though her skin smelled like bergamot soap, her clothes still reeked of old lyrium draughts and burnt hair. Her skirts were still stained in places with blood that was not her own. The last few days had wreaked havoc on her mind, left parts of her feeling empty.

But they were away from the tower, now. She could move past it, too. She had survived it and done her best, and now she had a moment in the sun with a handsome man holding her aloft. The air smelled of crisp apple orchards burning piles of fallen leaves somewhere in the far-off distance; of cool breezes that signaled the night would be cold and come early; and of rain clouds on the horizon traveling in the opposite direction that they were. For a moment, with her arms clutching at Alistair’s pauldrons and his arms crossed beneath her to keep her held against him, everything was as it should be.

Eilwyn breathed deep as she locked this memory deep within her most beloved moments, and when Alistair got tired of walking funny she expected him to set her down. But he didn’t. He kept her on his shoulders, telling her stories of Wardens about the fire, of the strangest things he’d ever found in his pack after a recruitment mission, and of his memories with Arl Eamon.

Every once in a while, he would turn to her to see if she was listening, and Eilwyn would press her cheek close to his. Not quite a kiss, but more than a nuzzle. Alistair would let her do it, casually nuzzling her back as he paused in his story.

He would exhale past his crooked smile, in disbelief or maybe surprise, and then continue talking. It must have happened two or three times before Eilwyn merely kept her cheek against Alistair's jaw as he spoke. When the stories naturally came to a halt, they simple stayed close. Eilwyn relaxed, draped over his strong shoulders, and Alistair diligently kept his eyes on the path ahead.


	14. Gathering Kindling

For the first time in ages, Eilwyn felt at peace. They had pitched their tents just a ways off of the path, underneath of the shelter of a few trees, and they were only a day's travel from Redcliffe. When they'd stopped, it seemed as if everyone was overcome with a restless, pleasant mood upon making such great time on their journey. The weather had been pleasant, the roads clear, and it was almost as if they could take a breather and relax for once. Even so, none of them were very hungry, so they’d spitted a couple of small rabbits and were picking at it absently while relaxing about the fire.

The night was brisk, but not unpleasant. The rain had brought with it a warmth on the edge of the horizon, and taken with it the worst of the winds. It was nice being out in the chill with the heat of the fire before them. It felt like all was balanced.

Leliana finished eating before all of them, and as they lazily pulled apart their light dinner, she told them stories. Morrigan was even pleasant, adding in tidbits to Leliana’s tales with a sarcasm that was charming, rather than off-putting. Leliana rolled with it, playing up Morrigan's disdain in a way that only lent more dynamic energy to the tales. They ended the night with a clear sky above them, and Eilwyn figured now was as good a time as any. Changing in her tent to her cleanest loose tunic, she took her robes to the fire, intending to finally sew the thigh-slash shut.

“Oh, here,” Wynne said, catching Eilwyn as she sat down. “Let me do that.”

“It’s alright, I’m perfectly capable-”

“I know, dear. I just… wanted to thank you. For everything you did in the Circle,” Wynne said softly. “It isn’t much, to patch a hole, I know. But I’d like to mend it all the same.”

For a moment, Eilwyn was worried that she was going to have to confront all the pain, that the night would once more delve into a dark place in her heart. She didn't know if she could handle it. But then Wynne took her robes and sewing kit with warm finality, and Eilwyn knew a lecture was not incoming, nor was a long and drawn out conversation.

“Allow an old woman her stubborn habits, girl,” she teased.

Eilwyn glanced up at her in the dark, smiling sadly.

“You’re sure?”

“Have some faith. What my fingers lack in mobility they make up for in experience.”

Leliana gave a little titter from her spot across the fire, and Eilwyn made an embarrassed little wince at the phrasing. She admitted defeat and handed over her robes before turning towards the dying fire. She wasn’t on first watch, and she didn’t want to go to sleep just yet. She needed something to do. Without the sewing, what else was there?

“I’m going to go for a little walk, stretch my legs,” she said.

Sten nodded that he’d heard her, and Wynne waved her off as she moved closer to the fire.

“Bring back some wood, if you can,” she suggested. “I’ll keep it aflame for a while yet, but I am definitely not nocturnal enough to keep it going for very long.”

“Wasn’t Alistair supposed to bring back firewood?”

She glanced over the group, but nobody seemed particularly worried about his absence. He'd been gone for a minute now, she realized.

“He was, yes,” Wynne sighed. “I can hear him off playing with your mabari beyond the tree line.”

“He… gets distracted. I’ll go remind him,” Eilwyn promised, and she left with a bounce in her step.

_Something to do!_

Following the noises of roughhousing, it took her a moment to locate her friend. He’d wandered pretty far into a grove of trees. Interspersed throughout the forest were huge, moss-covered rocks that felt somehow out of place. Eilwyn found herself tracing her fingertips along the lichenous surfaces, trying to pinpoint where Alistair was without alerting him to her presence.

He was close. She could hear him clap his hands and snicker to himself, which was how he called McWhistle over for pets. A meter ahead? Maybe two?

Just as she was about to round the corner past a boulder, she startled at a tap on her shoulder. She raised her hands, jumping back as she squeaked, but it was just Alistair on top of one of the rocks. It was about head-height… her head, not Alistair’s, which helped explain how he could’ve gotten up there in the first place. Alistair had apparently climbed up it before she got to him, and he now dangled his torso off of it completely doubled over in laughter.

“Oh, Maker, you should see your face!”

“Hey,” Eilwyn cried as she stamped her foot. “Don’t sneak up on me, I could’ve hurt you!”

“No, you couldn’t have,” Alistair said leisurely, rolling over onto his back. Eilwyn’s heart was still racing, her muscles tensed and ready to fight. She gave an angry stamp of her foot and raised both her palms up to show him she'd been ready.

“Magic! Remember?”

“I haven’t forgotten. I just trust you would pull your punches. And you did.” Alistair cocked his head at her from upside down, and then crossed his arms over his chest. “So I think you’re just mad because you got caught being a jumpy little bean.”

“You dropped down from above-”

“There was no dropping!”

“-so I feel like a tiny flinch-”

“Tiny? You jumped out of your skin!”

“-is justifiable!” Eilwyn finished, laughter on the edge of her voice. She took in a breath and glanced around. “Where’s my dog?”

“Up here on the rock with me.”

“What in the… How did you even get him up there?”

Eilwyn craned her neck around and saw that there was a tree growing against the opposite side. Alistair, in fact, had one of his knees looped about a branch of the thing in order to keep from falling completely off the boulder as he drooped over its side.

“I picked him up, and then I climbed up. Easy.”

Eilwyn wrinkled her nose. She found it hard to believe.

“Isn’t that right, McWhistle? He’s my big soft boy,” Alistair cooed, doing a situp in order to presumably pet McWhistle. Eilwyn heard the mabari’s jowls flapping and had to assume he’d just gotten his face squished happily.

_Pfft. Big soft war dog._

“Why are you up there, anyway?” she asked, putting her hands on her hips. Alistair relaxed back over the edge, and he watched her with an air of ease that belied his awkward position.

“No reason, really. Just wanted to get away for a minute.”

“Ah.” Eilwyn paused, biting her lower lip.

_From… everyone?_

“Do you…” she cleared her throat and tried again. “Do you want me to go away?”

“Oh no, you’re fine,” Alistair said. He inhaled, then sighed deeply. “I can't think of a time I've wanted you to _go away_.”

Eilwyn flushed, inordinately pleased.

_Even with the crying? The anxiety?_

_Hmm. Maybe he's being nice._

_Don't think on it._

“Are you okay?” she asked. Part of her wanted to reach up to comb her fingers through his hair, but something made her hesitate. If he didn't want to be touched, she didn't want to make whatever he was thinking about even more amplified.

Alistair looked off into the treetops for a moment, then shrugged.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked, a blossom of concern budding in her stomach.

“Not particularly,” he said softly. Suddenly, as if he’d just remembered something, he craned his neck back to her. “You can come see what’s on top of the rock, if you want. The trees look wicked from this angle, like a bunch of dangly arms trying to touch the sky.”

It was hard to read his expression at night anyway, but with him hanging almost upside-down, Eilwyn couldn’t tell a damn thing. Was he inviting her up because he wanted it, or because he thought she did? He had admitted to her that he’d needed a minute alone, that he didn’t want to talk about it.

 _That means there is an_ _it_ _to talk or not talk about…_

So what would make him feel better? Eilwyn chewed her lip, thinking. When it came to her, she trained Alistair with a knowing grin.

_He needs a distraction._

“I wish I could. But you see, I have to gather some firewood,” Eilwyn said pointedly, and she shifted her weight from hip to hip as if to further illustrate her dig. “I’m stuck wandering alone in the forest, when I could have been reading my book by the fire, all because some people would rather cavort on top of some rocks than do what they-”

Before she could finish her sentence, Alistair uttered a string of whispered curses. Eilwyn had barely taken a breath before he’d pulled himself up and jumped from the rock. McWhistle gave a whine, then vaulted off towards the warrior. His doggy faith was rewarded, as Alistair caught him effortlessly and set him on the ground in front of Eilwyn.

“Does my dog often do that with you?” she asked, aghast.

McWhistle barked happily.

“Maferath’s balls, I am so sorry,” is what she thought Alistair whispered as he straightened up, but Eilwyn didn't quite catch it. She was too busy admonishing him.

“You cannot train my dog to leap off of high places, Alistair! What if you don’t catch him, or if he thinks he can do the same with me? Or with Wynne!”

“Don’t, don’t change the subject,” he stammered, and he caught her hands lightly in his. “Also don’t get any firewood, that’s my job.”

“Oh is it?” she grinned fiendishly, swinging both of his hands up as if she was trying to escape his grasp. Even though she kept her fingers tightly around his. Alistair pulled her forward, and she could see a flash of white with his smile in the dark. She gave a happy squeal and arched backwards as he touched her hands to his forehead, supplicant and apologetic.

“It is!"

"Could have fooled me," she wheedled.

"I apologize, miss. Forgive a man his nighttime indiscretions,” Alistair said.

Eilwyn gave a shocked _ugh_ , and Alistair seemed to think that reaction was hilarious. He straightened up, but kept her hands in his. His gloves were cool to the touch, and his thumbs moved in slow circles over the backs of her knuckles as he gazed down at her.

“Really, Eilwyn, go. You deserve time to read your book. I’ll get the firewood.”

“If you want me to go,” she stated primly, “you’d release your hold, ser.”

Alistair huffed, then held her hands tighter, as if that were out of the question.

She giggled, and she almost went to pull her fingers free in one quick yank, but something made her pause. As Alistair begged her to let him gather the firewood, she was intensely aware of how thoughtful his eyes were. Whatever was on his mind was bothering him still, even if it was maybe less so. It made her want to do something, her heart growing more restless the longer she stood there.

_But what can I do, besides what I’m already doing?_

_He doesn’t want to talk._

“Agreed?” he asked, one of his hands moving to her shoulder as he turned her back towards the campfire in the distance. She let him position her, was too distracted at the fact that he still held her other hand to even care. They started strolling together, McWhistle running ahead, and Eilwyn wondered what this meant.

_Do friends hold hands like this?_

“I won't get distracted by the rocks this time,” Alistair promised.

“Mmm, while that does sound lovely,” Eilwyn turned her head, glancing up through her lashes at him. “I could come with you instead?”

“You've changed your mind and want to cavort on some rocks with me, then?”

“I'll gather firewood with you,” she insisted, moving her hands to where his armor belted about his waist so that she could give him a tiny shake. Alistair laughed.

“Okay, okay. If you really want to. How can I say no to such powerful threats, after all?”

Eilwyn made a wiggly finger gesture, as if she were going to cast something at him, but Alistair didn’t even flinch. Maybe he hadn’t seen? Most people flinched when she made like she was going to send magic their way. She made an ugly grimace up at him, testing how good his eyesight was in the dark.

“Ooh, that’s a cute expression,” Alistair laughed. “Trying to intimidate me as well, are you?”

“N-no,” Eilwyn stammered, sheepishly turning away. "Maybe. I was going for scary."

“If you want to frighten me, you should just dangle Morrigan’s face in front of me for a while.”

“Wait, how about this?” Eilwyn asked, tapping his bicep eagerly.

He turned to look down at her in the dark, and she used both hands to make the most grotesque, cross-eyed face she could. She hadn't practiced it since she was very young, when making faces across the dinnertable had been the funniest thing to do with her friends. Alistair burst out laughing, and he recoiled in mock horror.

“Andraste preserve us, she’s been melted!”

Eilwyn broke, smiling so hard that she couldn’t keep her cheeks pulled tight anymore.

“Even so,” Alistair said, turning away from her as he placed his hand gently at the small of her back. “Still too lovely to scare me off. You will have to try much harder.”

_L-lovely?_

Eilwyn brushed it off as quickly as it plucked the strings of her heart. He was playing with her, trying to get her goat the way they always did. Of course he’d say something sly like that, try to catch her off guard. He didn’t actually mean it, just like he didn’t actually mean that he’d dance the Remigold.

They walked together for a while, their only connection being his hand at the base of her spine, and it was nice and quiet. They veered away from the campsite, neither one of them talking much, and Eilwyn wondered for the millionth time if there was something she could do.

But, granted, she was also a bit distracted.

The last time anyone had touched her in this manner, it had been Cullen. The thought was dulling, she could already tell. The memory still cut, but less so. She was growing used to the sensation.

Cullen had always led her to the library like this, with one hand on the outside of her thin robes just above the sway of her hips. And yet, even though it was a vaguely familiar gesture, it felt so different with Alistair. She was the one leading him, walking them both where she wanted to go, instead of Alistair using his grip to turn or push her forward. Instead of Cullen directing her, Alistair followed her.

_Wonder if it's just as thrilling to him, this small connection? Does he like it as much as I do?_

The thought left her throat dry, her heart racing. It was pleasant, in the way that aching for a cake on your birthday was pleasant: the anticipation was delicious torture, made worse by the fact that she was naturally rather impatient. She crossed her arms, and when he asked her if she was cold, she shook her head and simultaneously cursed herself.

_That would’ve been a good excuse. Damn._

After only a few more agonizingly long minutes, Alistair found a dry, fallen log that he began snapping branches off of. He handed them to Eilwyn once he had a few of them together. Then he returned to work, focused on his task. As he bent forward, wrenching the branches from their joint at the trunk, the moonlight caught his silverite just so. In the dark, his eyes seemed all the wider, all the gentler. He’d shaved that morning, and his jaw looked so smooth. Eilwyn found herself starstruck, staring at him when he had his mind on other things.

“Has anyone ever told you how handsome you are?” she asked softly, reaching out to take another set of branches from him to pile into her arms.

Alistair glanced up, looking at her as if he was suddenly suspicious.

“Not unless they were asking me for a favor,” he said slowly. He moved to stomp on the log before them until it began to crack apart at its core. “Should've brought that ax we found,” Alistair grumbled.

He picked up the log and dropped it, hoping to break it from the force of impact. Eilwyn took a little step back, but she managed to keep from flinching at the little splinters that flew up from the hit.

“I find it hard to believe nobody’s mentioned it to you out of the blue,” she hinted, hoping he would catch her meaning.

_I'm not good at this. How do I tell him what I want to tell him without looking like a fool?_

“Well, there was that one time in Denerim, but those women were… not like you,” Alistair said.

“What does that mean?” she asked. "Not like me how?"

“Oh, um,” he said, chuckling to himself. "Nothing, nothing really."

“You are a tease,” she accused.

“My dear lady,” Alistair drawled, “if I was teasing you, you would know.”

She gave a helpless little groan at his voice, at how delicious it sounded when he lowered it like that. Sometimes it made her cringe from the audacity of it, like when he told her the other day he had _lines_ to use on her! What did that even mean!

But then there were times like this, when he applied that husky, hinting pitch to an innocuous little comment…

Eilwyn shivered, and not from the cold.

Alistair picked up the log once more, lifting it at chest level this time, but before he dropped it Eilwyn saw his expression change. As if he had realized something. He let his arms hang, relaxed, and pinned her with a look of sly scrutiny.

“Wait a second. Why do you ask?”

“Hmm?” Eilwyn evaded. She wished her arms weren’t full of firewood so that she could pull her braid over one shoulder. Her fingers twitched over the branches, clutching them closer as she avoided his eyes.

“Eilwyn. Is this your way of telling me you think I’m handsome?” he pressed.

She opened her mouth, but immediately shut it, and could do nothing more than stare at him with a combination of amusement and consternation. She made a little noise, one that made Alistair laugh triumphantly.

“Are you horrified at the prospect,” he pried, readjusting the log in his grip. “Or did I catch you trying to give me a genuine compliment out of the blue?”

“A-and if it is?” she asked. She cleared her throat. “A compliment from me, I mean.”

Alistair was still waiting, still holding the log as if he didn’t want to drop it or their current conversation topic. At her reply, he looked like he drew his lower lip between his teeth in contemplation. But it was hard to tell in the dark.

“What then?” Eilwyn finished, desperate to know.

Alistair gave a nervous laugh, more of an unconscious exhale than anything, and tried to readjust his grip on the log. It tumbled to the ground out of his hands as he hissed a tiny curse, but split at its middle as if he’d planned it. Eilwyn could see Alistair’s jaw clench at the noise it had made, at the ill timing of it all, but then he looked up at her with mirth in his eyes.

“Oh, nothing,” he said. “I just get to grin a bit and look foolish for a while. As I have just demonstrated I am more than capable of doing.”

Eilwyn giggled.

“I think it’s rather compelling,” she admitted through the laughter.

“How clumsy I am?” he asked, sounding hurt. She snorted.

“No. How strong you are.”

She moved to his side and patted his biceps with her free hand as if to illustrate it. It was kind of difficult, cradling the kindling in one arm as she did so, but she wanted to be close. She wanted to find an excuse to touch him, the way he found excuses to touch her. Alistair’s expression in the dark was either confused, or embarrassed, or the one he wore when he teased her. It was so hard to tell.

_When he makes his voice go low, suggestive, he gets that look, I’m almost positive of it._

Even if it was just her imagination, the thought alone sent a little ripple of arousal through Eilwyn’s spine. The idea that Alistair wanted her this close, that he liked her this close, was almost addictive. Testing their boundaries as friends was even more so.

_Is this even okay?_

_Is it bad that I don't care? That I just want..._

_What do I even want from him?_

Alistair turned from her, from her silent contemplation, and gave a little laugh.

“I can’t take many more compliments, magelet,” he mustered. “My ego is already rather full of itself. You’d do well to stop feeding it soon.”

“I think you can take a few more bites, at least,” she said, trying her hand at lowering her voice the way he did.

_Oh. Maker.That smirk._

He reacted in the dark, more obviously this time. His facial expression was undeniable this time; she could tell that he was pleased. She felt his foot move closer to hers, heard him shifting his weight from hip to hip as he gave a proud little snicker.

“Well, maybe I can,” Alistair said, his tone of voice suggesting evasion as he brought up a hair to fluff through his hair. “It definitely doesn’t hurt to have a pretty girl tell me so, at least.”

Eilwyn grinned, then realized she still had her palm on his arm. She let it fall, her heart beating out an eager, uptempo rhythm in her chest.

_That… felt really good, actually. To say that to him._

_I should do this more often._

Together, they gathered the rest of the firewood and began to amble slowly back towards camp. When they could hear Leliana plucking absently at her lute, Alistair stopped walking. He turned, and Eilwyn tilted her head.

“Is this not enough?” she asked, and lifted her arms up in question.

“No, um. I was just wondering…” he murmured. “Is this the part where I get to say the same?”

His voice was rich, confident, and Eilwyn’s heart raced at the mere hint of pleasure in his voice.

_The same?_

_Oh._

"You want to tell me I'm handsome?" she hinted, swaying back and forth in playful eagerness.

"That wouldn't be my first choice of adjective," Alistair laughed. The noise was husky in the best way, a throaty, raw sound that sent a jolt of pleasure up her spine. "I would have picked beautiful. Stunning, really. If I was allowed to, anyway." He raised an eyebrow. "Am I allowed to?"

“I mean,” she stammered, bouncing on her toes a bit in the shadows of the trees. He was still lit up by the moon, backlit by the stars. He didn’t look uncomfortable, or nervous. But her heart was pounding so hard Eilwyn was sure he would be able to see it through the bundle of sticks she clutched to her chest. “Not unless you don’t think so?”

He made a noise. Soft, caught behind a closed-lip smile, and Eilwyn felt strangely powerful.

“Oh, I think so,” he said, standing a bit straighter in the night. His voice was so self-assured, she felt her body practically vibrate at the tone. She bit her lip, trying to keep from smiling too widely, but he seemed to notice anyway.

_Or am I just imagining the way he’s looking at my mouth?_

“But you seemed to like teasing me back there. So I think I’ll just spring it on you when it’s a surprise. Give you a taste of your own medicine.”

When he laughed, Eilwyn crinkled her nose as if she were frustrated with that answer. She let out an indignant gasp.

“B-but…”

“But what, miss?” Alistair asked, leaning forward. “Do you have something you particluarly want to hear from me?”

Eilwyn blushed fiercely, but she did not shy away from his gaze. Instead, she dragged her lower lip in between her teeth and nudged him with her elbow.

_Come on. Just say it._

“Now, now, don’t get rough with me,” he stated. “I bruise easily!”

Without another word, as if the both of them had planned it, they walked in step back to the fire. Leliana looked up from the dying embers as the two approached, a smile alighting her face at the sight of more firewood.

“Perfect timing, it was just about to grow cold,” she said, setting her lute down to help Eilwyn with the kindling. Alistair took the bigger log pieces over to the opposite side, and he settled onto his knees where he set them down.

“I could use my magic to light it, since it's almost dead?” Eilwyn suggested.

“Nonsense,” Leliana tutted. “There is no need.”

Leliana began to arrange more of the wood over the dying fire, nodding when she wanted Alistair to add one of the larger pieces. Pretty soon, it was bright and roaring once more, and Leliana sat back to pick up her instrument.

“See?” she insisted with a smile. “Just needed some encouragement.”

Eilwyn caught Alistair’s eye over the fire just as she said so, and the both of them grinned at one another before glancing in opposite directions. It was as if they both shared a secret, one they were happy to keep.

_Right._

Eilwyn sighed happily, picking up a stick to prod at some of the embers herself for lack of anything else to do in the moment.

_Some encouragement._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh ho ho look at the cute cinnamage-roll getting a bit sassy!
> 
> We'll be getting a new friendo in the next chapter. I'm gonna try to gloss over game events more than I'm doing now, I keep getting distracted and making the convos last longer between these two haha. If I keep this pace it is going to take forever to get to the juicy bits!
> 
> Also, say "sew the thigh-slash shut" five times fast haha XD


	15. Poor Timing

“You’re not serious, are you?”

Eilwyn turned at Alistair’s question, looking up from where she was washing her hands in the stream they’d stopped by to rest. He wasn’t looking at her, he was focused on the soft conversation coming from just around the bend.

“About what?” she asked, even though she knew.

“Our newest addition.”

“Oh.” Eilwyn clenched her jaw, a bit embarrassed. “That.”

“Yes, that.” His whisper was terse, but not unkind. She chanced a look up at him instead of at her bloody hands, hoped to find him wearing a playful expression. Sadly, he was not. Alistair looked as if he was chewing the inside of his cheek as he stared off into the distance. “Very much that,” he muttered, most likely just to himself.

For a moment, she kept scrubbing at her fingernails in silence, the only noise between them the babble of the brook and the  chatter of their friends nearby. Sten was asking Zevran something about loyalties, and she could hear the elf respond with a throaty laugh that carried quite far.

“Zevran apologized,” Eilwyn offered, but it sounded lame even before Alistair turned to face her with eyes narrowed in skepticism.

“For trying to kill us on Loghain’s orders,” Alistair whispered, his tone one of absolute disbelief. “Sorry shouldn’t cut it.”

“You know,” she stammered, “it was the Loghain part that caught me too. This wasn’t personal for Zevran, so he-”

“He is an assassin, Eilwyn,” Alistair stated. “Antivan Crows are not something to be trifled with.”

“Why? Because they kill people for a living?” Eilwyn asked. “Feels like we've been doing much of the same, lately.”

Alistair wrinkled his nose, and his eyes narrowed as he seemingly tried to figure out if, once again, she was serious.

“You don’t… you don’t truly think that about yourself, do you? That you're among that sort of ilk?”

She said nothing, only shrugged and looked back down to her hands.

Alistair took in a deep breath, then let it out slowly.

“I suppose you’re not wrong in that innocents have been killed,” he conceded. "I can see why you might... feel this way."

Eilwyn sighed deeply as well, then went back to trying to remove blood from underneath of her fingernails. Had the one assassin not crept up on her from behind and tried to stab through her shoulders, she never would've pressed her magic through his chest at such close range.

_I hate the feel of it on me._

“I assume you’ve heard that Lothering fell, then?” Alistair asked softly.

Eilwyn let out a quick exhale.

She had. It had been just yesterday, very late into the night, that she'd heard the news. Before the gray of dawn had hit, she’d overheard Bodahn talking with Leliana about it when it was her turn to take over watch. About it being overrun. About having gotten out at a good time.

_Are their lives not on my hands for not moving faster?_

Her face fell as she realized something.

_Is that why Alistair left? Why he needed a moment before gathering firewood? Because he found out about it before I did?_

She glanced back up at Alistair, like she could find answers in him if she looked hard enough. Instead, she found him leaning against the tree he was standing next to, his thumbs hooked in the front of his baldric and his face stormy.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I wish we could have done more. Or done things faster, I don't know. I know how that must weigh on you, though.” Before she could answer, he looked up and trained her with an imploring stare. “But that does not mean that you must take your compassion for those fallen men and women and merely hand it out to whomever will take it.”

“Why not?”

Alistair’s eyes widened at her retort, but he didn’t seem to have an immediate answer.

“It kind of feels safer, knowing he’s here than wondering what he’s doing elsewhere,” Eilwyn said, patting her hands against the front of her robes to dry them- and to disguise how nervous she was to admit such a thing. “He is a worthwhile assassin. We could use someone with his particular skill set. Plus, he said they’d send more Crows eventually. Might as well keep him here just in case they do.”

“I understand your reasoning, and I’m not saying it isn’t sound. I just don’t trust him, and I didn't want you to feel like you had to either.”

"Maybe that’s a good thing, that you don't,” Eilwyn answered, shrugging. “But like I said. He asked me for forgiveness, for a second chance, and I intend to give it to him. He seemed contrite.”

Alistair mumbled something under his breath.

“What was that?”

“I said,” he turned away from her, a contrary thing to do as he raised his voice only slightly. “That contrite is not the word that comes to mind.”

“Oh?” Eilwyn gave a quiet, sardonic little laugh. “And what word does?”

“I don’t know,” Alistair murmured, and she thought he looked a bit flustered by the question. “Smooth?”

Eilwyn snorted into her hand, but he didn’t look amused.

“I’m serious,” he said petulantly. “The way he talks to you is very…” Alistair made his tongue trill a bit as he raised his eyebrow. “Know what I mean?”

“He is a bit forward, I suppose,” she allowed. She hoped Alistair couldn't see how much she wanted to laugh at him in this moment. He seemed to feel a particular way about it, and probably wouldn't respond well to teasing. He sneered as she watched him tighten one of his gauntlets absently.

“Too quick with the honey, I say,” Alistair muttered. “Especially after he just tried to kill you.”

“To be fair, though, he merely said one thing,” Eilwyn shot back gently. “Nothing more.”

_He told me I was beautiful._

_Is that... is Alistair jealous?_

The thought sent a frisson of pleasure through her, oddly enough. It wasn't that she enjoyed Alistair suffering, but the idea that he cared enough about her to want to be the one to say such things, instead of someone else? Now that was pleasant.

Alistair said something under his breath that she didn’t catch, something that sounded like ‘yeah but still’ or maybe even ‘might yet kill’... it was difficult with the way Alistair kept half-swallowing his words up before they reached her.

“He’s like that with everyone, from what I gather at least,” Eilwyn said. She pulled her braid over one shoulder to stroke it and try to banish the electric thoughts of Alistair being envious from her mind. “If that makes you feel any better about it.”

Alistair said nothing. He merely sighed again and shook his head, as if he were helpless in this situation.

“Look. I fully understand why you’re uneasy with him around but…” Eilwyn struggled for words, trying to best phrase what she wanted to say before letting it spill out. “But I am serious about forgiving him this. He seems like a good man, if not a bit of a flirt.”

“Mmm, if you say so,” Alistair replied. He kicked out his boot and knocked a pebble into the stream with a _plunk_. “I just don’t feel so great about it.”

“His flirting?”

“Well, yes, that.” Even though he wasn’t facing her, she could tell her was trying not to roll his eyes. “But also the whole joining us from now on thing. Sure, going to Redcliffe might be fine with him along, but after that? We have a responsibility to the Arl, and who’s to say Loghain won’t try to take us down yet again when we visit Denerim next? I just don’t know if this is the best decision, keeping someone like this Zevran along with us for whatever happens after Connor wakes.”

“It’s… definitely not conventional,” she agreed. Part of her was thrilled that Alistair talked about Connor so definitively, but it also laid a considerable burden on her heart.

_There is a risk I will fail. Does he not factor that in?_

_He must have incredible faith in me._

Eilwyn tried to catch his eye again, tried to get a good look at her friend and deduce where this conversation was coming from. During the end of the ambush itself, when Zevran admitted to being sent by Loghain, Alistair had seemed willing to concede the decision to Eilwyn entirely. He had only argued a little, then begrudgingly agreed with her sparing him.

So why this, and why now?

“Did my deciding to spare his life rest so uneasily with you?" Eilwyn asked. "Or is it just the general malaise of the journey that is making you so suspicious?”

Zevran and the other Crows had ambushed them right as they had finished breakfast, setting off from camp with only another day’s walk ahead of them. Now, in the bright light of the autumn afternoon, they’d been delayed to the point where Eilwyn didn’t know if she felt comfortable traveling much further once nightfall hit. There was a chance they could make it to Redcliffe before the sun set, so she had yet to decide what to do with everyone. The news about Lothering, on top of the ambush, had Eilwyn torn on whether to take her time or rush forward.

She needed to know how Alistair felt. She didn't want to push him too hard, do something to bristle him further.

_For many reasons._

“No, the journey’s been fine,” Alistair said lightly, but he didn’t sound all that upset anymore. He sighed for what felt like the dozenth time. “I trust you, Eilwyn. I promise I do. I guess I just… needed to vent, before my head exploded.”

“If you’re that worried, then I can-”

“No, no, please don’t take it like that,” he protested. “I’m not- I don’t want you to feel second-guessed. I just feel like the man is strange and I wanted to discuss it with you, that’s all.”

“He is. I’ll give you that. But,” Eilwyn continued, “we’re all a bit strange. Besides you and me, nobody really _has_ to be here, you know? They could all leave us all if they wanted to, and they don’t. That has to mean something,” she finished, picking idly at her fingernail so that she didn’t have to look up at him as she spoke.

_I want it to mean something, at least._

“I will admit, though,” she sighed. “It is horrible timing.”

For a minute, neither of them said a word. Her assessment hung in the air between them like a calming incense, her optimism seemingly cooling Alistair’s discomfort. When he still didn’t say anything after such a long pause, however, she glanced over at her companion and realized he was staring at her. His eyes were soft, pensive, and she raised an eyebrow in response.

“What?”

“N-nothing,” he said, turning to look up at the sky as he rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. “I was just thinking.”

“About what?”

“About timing,” Alistair answered. He sounded distracted.

Before Eilwyn could ask what he meant, Alistair forced out a laugh.

“Time we get back to the group, I mean. We’ve been chatting here for a while, right? They’ll, ah… they’ll be expecting us. You know how our little band of friends love to talk when we're not around.”

“But I-”

“Thank you,” he said firmly. “For listening.”

_Wait._

On Alistair’s face was the thoughtful look from last night. The one he’d worn in the dark, when she’d found him on the rock. His eyes were almost sad, and even thought Eilwyn didn’t think she’d caused it, she wanted to be the one to fix it.

Acting on impulse, Eilwyn grabbed Alistair’s arm and pulled him back. Not quite to the stream, but behind the large tree he’d been leaning on and out of the way of the others’ line of sight. He turned to her in surprise, and he stumbled a bit as she yanked him forward.

“Oh, okay. I guess we aren’t done, then?” he stuttered, seemingly amused at her close proximity.

_But beyond that smile… something’s eating at him. I just know it._

“I…” Eilwyn’s heart was suddenly in her throat.

_All of our conversations. The comfort. The understanding. The laughter. Last night, and today, everything…_

“Um.”

_Say something. He’s looking at you, say something, oh Maker, nothing’s coming out!_

“I wanted to say thank you,” she said meekly, feeling like a fool. She just barely kept her face from scrunching up in frustrated shyness, but she could feel her cheeks bloom pink. “We keep adding people to our travels, and I like them all, but you…”

Eilwyn swallowed hard. Her tongue felt thick in her mouth, wouldn’t let the words get past it. Her fingers were trembling, her nerves running so quickly through her that she felt as if she’d just survived a great fall. She took a deep breath, trying to calm down, and looked up at the leaves as she wrung both hands in front of herself like a loon.

_Why am I so nervous? It’s not as if I even said anything worthwhile here!_

Eilwyn’s heart skipped a beat, her nerves bolstering her enough to where she could blurt what she meant to say.

_Sparing Zevran’s life, accepting Wynne, supporting Leliana, freeing Sten… even recruiting Morrigan. These things would mean nothing to me if you hadn’t been the one at my side this whole time. Out of everyone, I’m glad it was you. I’m glad it is you._

But the words wouldn’t come out. Alistair looked confused, if not patient.

“I like you too, Eilwyn,” he said bluntly. "You're doing an incredible job leading us. Never doubt that."

She hated how her heart immediately melted with longing. She already knew that he liked her, from the way he leveled with her and supported her to the little touches he gave her at every opportunity. It was painfully obvious even to _her_ that Alistair liked her…

_But how much?_

The idea that Alistair liked her only as a friend, that she had so little experience in such matters to distinguish friendship from romance, made Eilwyn feel like she was standing on a very tall ledge overlooking a drop. It was thrilling, in a morbid way. But also sickening. She wanted to get down, to stop feeling as if any small movement was going to pitch her down into falling.

To get down, in her mind, meant that she would have to lay things out on the table. Be honest, like he was with her. It meant talking about how she felt, even without knowing if he felt the same.

_How do you even feel?_

"While... I appreciate that sentiment," Eilwyn started to say, lost in her thoughts to the point that it was hard to track the conversation. "Um..."

She felt warm and tongue-tied at the moment. But normally, she felt relaxed. Easy. Like being with Alistair was what being alone should feel like, except less lonely. She didn’t worry about impressing him, or disappointing him, because she doubted she could do either. She simply… was. After years of being told that she had to be certain ways, or else people would never want to be close to her or trust her or put up with her, she simply  _was._ For once in her life, it didn't take effort to make the people around her feel at ease.

_Okay. So say that. Say you like that._

It wasn’t that simple, though, was it? Didn’t confessions of such a nature have to be formal, and meaningful? Didn’t they have to come from a place that suggested the other person was _also_ interested? That was what caught her up like a spider web, what tangled at her footing even now. The concept that Alistair could possibly feel something for her was so foreign, so outlandish, that Eilwyn wasn’t even sure how to phrase her own desires without being offensive to him.

_But I want to._

_I want to tell him._

He smiled at her softly in the fall sunlight shining past the crimson leaves above them, his skin glowing warmly in the last dying rays of summer. Looking at him, so close and so genuine, Eilwyn finally found the words.

“You’re always honest with me, Alistair,” she said quietly. He seemed pleased with that, his grin broadening. She gave a weak laugh, and continued, “Even when we disagree about something, you’re so respectful of me. Even when you don't have to be.”

“Of course,” he started to say, but she held up a hand lightly to signal that she wanted to finish.

“You’re a good man. And that means… um,  _you_ mean a lot to me.”

Alistair blinked, and he looked as if he’d just seen a bear stand up on its hind legs and twirl about like a ballerina. Eilwyn’s eyes widened in response, and she clapped a hand over her mouth to try to keep the words from spilling out in a stupid gush any further than they already had.

“I… I’m so sorry. To just blurt it out like that. You’re one of the first true friends I’ve ever had, and I just-”

Alistair caught her wrists as she flapped her hands like nervous butterflies about his armor, and pressed both of her palms flat to his chest.

“Hey,” he whispered, drawing her nearer. “Don’t be sorry.”

Eilwyn felt her words die on her lips, fading away as Alistair leaned forward. He dipped his head, his lips mere inches away from hers. She let out a tiny noise, one that would have embarrassed her had she not wanted this so badly. Eilwyn closed her eyes, unsure of what to do but absolutely sure she wanted to do it.

She felt soft stubble graze across her cheek, and her eyes fluttered open.

_Another… kiss on the cheek?_

She turned, thinking absurdly that maybe he had missed her mouth by accident. It was so close of a kiss to her lips that maybe he’d misjudged and just didn’t want to admit it. But as soon as she moved, Alistair pulled away rather sharply. It was so abrupt that she had no time to even enjoy the kiss he’d pressed to her cheek in the first place. Blinking in perplexity, Eilwyn tried to find the words to ask what was wrong.

Alistair seemed to find them before she did. His cheeks were flushed, and his pupils were wide, but he seemed to be trying to find an air of authority through his nerves. He cleared his throat, his gaze still hazily focused on her parted mouth.

“You…” he swallowed, then tried again. “Ah… Eilwyn.”

“Yes?” Eilwyn whispered, tilting her chin up, inviting him to try again. At her insistence, however innocent it was, Alistair seemed to close off further. His jaw clenched, hard, and he seemed to force himself to utter a chuckle past it.

As if they were just playing once more.

As if she hadn’t just admitted that she liked him, possibly more than liked him.

“I… don’t have the best of it,” Alistair admitted. “Timing, I mean.”

His hands fell away from where they had been pressing her palms to his chest, and he patted himself down as if he was searching for something on his person. When he found nothing, she watched as his expression folded. His eyes closed in exasperation, his mouth pursing in a thin line. When he opened his eyes again, he looked down at her with terse disappointment written on his face.

“C-could we try this some other time, maybe?”

Eilwyn blinked, then pulled back so that she could better read his expression.

_Is he saying he doesn’t want to get closer?_

“Some other time?” she repeated weakly.

“Yeah,” Alistair swallowed hard, glancing to either side of himself, as if he feared he’d dropped something.

He looked so distracted, so worried and tense, that Eilwyn immediately started to fluster herself. They were so close together that she could catch the way his breathing had changed. No longer was he relaxed against the tree she’d hidden them behind; he had pushed up from it, and one of his hands came up to cover his eyes briefly as he let out a little groan.

“Maker’s breath, why now?” he cursed softly, but she got the sense it wasn’t directed at her. Even so, even if he didn’t mean for it to be said out loud, it still cut at her.

_I thought to say it now because… I feel it now._

_Was that wrong?_

“Oh.” She slipped her hands away, wringing them before herself nervously before she realized how it must look to do so. In a flash, she’d crossed her arms behind her back, and she tried to stand straight before her warrior. “I see.”

“What?” Alistair asked, and he seemingly came back to himself as she took a step backwards.

Eilwyn brought one of her hands forth to tap her own cheek with her index finger.

“It’s just a thank you, right?” she asked, a sinking feeling settling into her stomach as she did so. “That’s what you said, after I gave you the amulet? That we could thank each other like this.”

_Friends. Stay friends. Oh please, let us stay friends._

“Eilwyn-”

“No, it’s alright,” she shook her head, disappointment streaking through her. “I get it. Anything more, and it’s poor timing, like you said. Now is… now is not a good time, I should have realized. S-silly of me.”

She didn’t really know what she’d expected, and for all she knew she had stated her own feelings poorly. She’d thought, after last night, after how concerned Alistair seemed today, that maybe he felt more for her than just congenial kindness.

She had watched him before, tried to note how he was with others. Sure, Alistair was freely giving with his jovial nudges or slaps on the back, but he very rarely touched others the way he touched Eilwyn. He never reached for others the way he reached for her. He never touched his palm to the small of someone else’s back the way he did hers.

But then again, neither had Cullen. And look where that had ended up.

_If I want to keep him at all, maybe it’s best that I keep him at a distance. Otherwise he might…_

The memory of Cullen screaming at her from beyond the barrier, crying out in pain as he clutched at the sides of his head, flashed before Eilwyn’s eyes in a quick, bloody blur. Before Alistair could say anything, she pressed the back of her hand against her lips and tried to force herself to smile past the urge to cry.

“I didn’t mean-”

He was trying to speak, stammering awkwardly to try to tell her something, or maybe take back something, but Eilwyn could not focus on the conversation anymore. She had the feeling that this was not what she needed to be doing. It felt almost like guilt laced with frustration, and a dash of shame thrown in for good measure. Just a relatively sick feeling, overall, which was not conducive to getting done what she needed to get done.

_Connor is still waiting for me._

“We should head back,” she whispered, her voice unsteady already. “Like you said.”

Quickly, before she could make more of a fool of herself, Eilwyn strode past a bewildered Alistair towards where the rest of the party was still recovering from the ambush. As she was walking back, she thought she heard Alistair make a little noise of disappointment behind her. However, it was hard to hear over the pounding of her heart in her ears.

As she moved to recover her belongings from where she'd left them to go clean herself up, Eilwyn tried to talk some sense back into herself. Granted, this was not how she had hoped that confessing her feelings would go, but it also wasn't a solid no on Alistair's part, right? He'd still kissed her cheek, had not outright told her what Cullen had.

_He said another time, so maybe another time is what he really means._

_Just because he’s not open to this conversation doesn’t mean it’s done forever._

_Have faith._

But another part of her, the insecure, inexperienced girl she knew she truly was, talked back. A sense of disappointment that she couldn't shake lay over her shoulders in a prickly fog, keeping her from feeling truly at ease.

_Maybe he doesn't want to let me down because of how much I have left to do._

_Keep the mage happy, because otherwise, she'll lose her head._

_De-lyrium. Ugh._

Eilwyn’s heart felt as if it was encased in solid lead, heavy and unwieldy in her chest, but she managed to put on a smile as she began to interact with her other companions. The last thing she needed was them prying further, unleashing the secret hurt she didn't want anybody to look at. Luckily, they were all over the place themselves. Leliana distracted her with a question about Zevran’s armor, and Wynne mentioned something about the Circle of Magi sending lyrium and mages quickly behind them. It gave Eilwyn just enough ammunition to refocus her brain on something other than the way Alistair's lips had felt on her skin.

_Focus._

She made the decision to not stay still, even with night fast approaching. She had to keep pushing forward, even when her gut roiled with nerves at the thought, for any progress to be made. They moved on, altogether, with Eilwyn leading them at the front. She didn’t look back or pause in her step until they reached Redcliffe castle in the late evening, with the sun setting beyond the walls. They had made incredible time, and they were greeted by a very haggard-looking Arlessa Isolde at the front gate.

“I’m here,” Eilwyn told her when her foot hit the top step. "How... I know it has not been an easy wait, but I trust you've held on? That Connor has held on?"

Isolde’s lower lip trembled as if the last of her resolve were being sapped away. Relief etched into her features like cracks on a pane of glass about to break, and she moved slowly forward into her arms. Eilwyn gripped both of the Arlessa’s elbows in her hands, holding her steady as Isolde hugged her in gratitude.

“We have received word from Lake Calenhad,” Isolde whispered shakily. “The mages will be here on the morrow, early. And you…” she took a shaky breath. “Thank the Maker for all you have done, all you are about to do, Lady Eilwyn.”

“I’m going to save him,” Eilwyn promised, her voice strangely stalwart as she did so. It felt less like an act, nowadays, more natural. “I’m going to make this right.”

Isolde said no more, merely tightened her hold on Eilwyn’s waist.

As she gave the Arlessa back a quick, reassuring embrace, Eilwyn grit her teeth and readied her mind for the task at hand. One more night of rest and preparation, and then with the fingers of dawn stretching out the sun’s hand over the castle, she would finish this. She would make this as right as she could.

Then… only once Connor was safe and sound, only then could she focus her mind on other things. Like assassin, battleplans, and treaties.

And timing.

_Have faith._

That night, as she was readying herself for bed, she realized that she had forgotten to give her party members some runes that they might like fitted to their armor. She wasn't sure how it would work, going into the Fade to save Connor, wasn't sure if she needed to prepare her companions for a fight on the outside. But it couldn't hurt.

Leliana thanked her profusely for the ones she gave to her, and told Eilwyn she would move outside to fetch Bodahn and Sandal into the castle so that they could enchant her bow.

"You should give some to the others while I run and get them," Leliana chirped. "Be right back."

Eilwyn bit her lip, apprehensive. Before she could lose her nerve, she followed on the footsteps of her friend, turning towards the men's bedroom as Leliana forked right towards the stairs leading out to the courtyard. With the little stone glyphs held loosely in her hands, Eilwyn knew this was necessary. She knew it was perfectly alright to step into the room, say hello, leave the gylphs, then go back to bed. It was not strange for her to be there.

Still, something made her pause before knocking to announce herself. The doorway was wide open, and she chanced a look inside before anyone was alerted to her presence.

Sten was seated by the fireplace, reading, his face relatively relaxed. The book looked familiar, Eilwyn thought she'd seen Wynne carrying it the last few nights. Beside him, Zevran was sharpening one of his blades on a whetstone, slowly and deliberately. His fingers about the blade made her nervous, even though the elf moved his hands with deliberate grace about the sharp edges. Finally, at the back of the room sitting on the edge of his bed with his elbows resting on his knees, was Alistair.

He was holding something in his hands, something delicate. He had yet to disrobe himself of his full plate, but his hands were free of their gauntlets and cradling something in them. It looked like an herb from where she was standing, or maybe some type of flower? It was hard to tell, but in the dim glow of the room, she thought she recognized in his eyes the sad, wistful look he'd had earlier that day.

"Ah, my lady Warden," Zevran said sweetly. "What brings you to my corner of the castle so late at night, I wonder?"

At Zevran's voice, Eilwyn watched Alistair flinch and draw whatever he had in his hands back against his belly. His hands curved to protect whatever it was, or to hide it. As his eyes caught sight of Eilwyn standing in the doorway, hesitating, she could see his jaw clench and his cheeks redden.

"Oh," she glanced away, to spare him. Her own skin felt too warm at the sight of him so shy, her own body suddenly clumsy. "I just thought you might want to h-have these, I guess. Just in case."

She stepped into the room and handed off the runes to Zevran, whose cool fingers lingered on hers a bit longer than she was comfortable with. Without looking up, she could tell Alistair was watching her interaction with the elf. Sten gave a grunt of thanks from where he sat by the fire.

"I do not anticipate we will need them, seeing as tomorrow you are the only one entering the Fade," Sten said simply. "But I thank you for your foresight."

"Leliana is fetching our little enchanter," Eilwyn said with a small smile. "Should you have need of him, all you have to do is ask."

"Is that what you are to do?" Zevran asked, his voice breathy, as if he were impressed. "Step into the Fade, for the boy? Such bravery."

"It's, it's really not," Eilwyn stammered, waving away the praise as she grinned awkwardly. "Truly. I'm a mage, it's my responsibility to-"

"Nonsense. There are others."

"I insist that I-"

"Of course you insist, but you must know all of your options before making such a heavy decision."

Eilwyn shut her mouth, trying to regard him with slight offense at his tone.

_I have thought about it all, you know._

"You could send the silver-haired enchantress," he said, oblivious to her expression, or perhaps ignoring it willfully. "Or the dark beauty who broods away from the fire, she would also do," Zevran teased lightly. After a heartbeat of silence from her, he broke down and smiled dashingly. "I know that someone as intelligent as you must have considered this, do not look at me with such fire in your eyes. I merely mean to illustrate that there are other mages, little dove. But you still choose to put yourself in harm's way. And that is bravery."

Eilwyn grit her teeth, unbalanced from the combination of things at war within her chest. Curiosity mingled with sadness at the thought that Alistair was hiding something from her, but a strange sense of pride and strength kept her standing tall.

Well. Relatively tall. Same height as the elf before her, which wasn't saying much.

"It doesn't feel brave to me, though. I volunteered since I know what it's like," she said quietly.

_To be a kid. To be so powerful. To think you've done something unforgivable._

She smiled faintly, mainly because Zevran's expression was no longer a teasing one. He was regarding her with sharp clarity, and she liked that. Respected it.

"Maybe I'm helping Connor for selfish reasons. You never know," she teased, smiling at him with a tired little sigh.

"Ha," Zevran winked at her. "You, my lady? I don't know if you have the capacity. But we shall see, indeed."

He turned back to the fire, back to his blades, and Eilwyn chanced another glance around the room.

Alistair was no longer looking at her. He'd rested his hands in his lap, whatever they had been cradling was now nowhere to be seen. His gaze was trained mechanically at the floor, soft discomfort written on his face.

_Say something._

_You like him, so say something!_

"Goodnight everyone," Eilwyn managed to get out. "Sleep well."

Sten had already returned to his book, and Zevran had the audacity to do what she thought was an air-kiss in her direction, but Alistair glanced up at her as she hesitated by the doorway. When their gazes met, he made a face as if he'd been caught doing something wrong, but at least he did not look away. He looked...

_Remorseful?_

_Tired?_

_All I know is that he's not happy, and I don't know how to fix this._

"I'll see you tomorrow," she said, keeping what she prayed was a hopeful expression on her face. Meant just for him. Andraste preserve her, she hoped he knew it was just for him.

In the dim candlelight, Alistair gave a weak smile, one that faded quickly from his lips. But it was a smile nonetheless, and he nodded to her that he had understood. Only then could Eilwyn force her feet to carry her back to the other room, back to where the women were settling down for the night.

"Eilwyn, dear," Wynne said as she closed the door behind her. "I wanted to talk to you about tomorrow, if you have a minute."

"Of course," she answered, and she moved to sit on the bed by her fellow Circle mage.

As they discussed the plan, the dangers, and all of the possible outcomes, Eilwyn managed to put her anxiety and her feelings slightly out of her mind. Just for now, just for the moment. She knew tomorrow would bring a new day, and new opportunities, and the more she discussed things with Wynne the more capable she felt.

That night as she snuggled into the warm blankets on her cot by the fireplace, one thought floated past her like paper falling from atop a great balcony, down to the garden below.

_I can do this._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **feels writing this chapter**
> 
> ρ(- ω -、)ヾ(￣ω￣; ) oh Eilwyn. Muffin. There there.
> 
> (＃￣ω￣) mmmm okay then, Alistair.
> 
> ****  
> It's hard to explain how much I want them to be together, but how much I want to do right by two very young, very inexperienced characters. One of whom is even more innocent than the other. It's been a fun challenge haha.


	16. A Gentle Flower

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a long one, kiddos!

The Fade was as it always was: smokey, sickly, wrong. It smelled of lyrium and incense, of clay and venom. It made her feel strange being so deep inside of it, made her feel like she had to be ever watchful. It was, in a word, exhausting.

Once she came upon the clearing where the desire demon stood, awaiting her, Eilwyn debated whether or not to merely kill the demon immediately. She knew that she should, knew her bones were infinitely tired from keeping her guard up in the Fade this long, but something in her relaxed in the face of gentle conversation. She heard out the demon’s wishes. She put on her best, most innocent face, trying to appear enraptured by the turn of events. And when the demon offered her riches, intelligence, skills, Eilwyn shrugged them all off.

“I have no need of them,” she said honestly.

It was the last offer that broke her morbidly unaffected veneer.

“I can make him love you, you know,” the demon rasped, her voice sultry in its hoarseness.

Eilwyn’s brow furrowed despite her attempt to keep a neutral air. It must have been enough of a tic to give her away, to betray her temptation, because the mood shifted in the air between them. The demon gave a low, silken laugh.

“Oh, yes, I know what you want. It’s on the forefront of your mind, my girl.”

“Who again?” Eilwyn asked, her ignorance feigned too late.

The demon laughed.

“The knight at your side,” she drawled. “The Templar who smells of flowers instead of flames. The boy whose hand you long to hold, whose lips you ache to taste.”

Eilwyn’s eyes fluttered shut for a moment. She could feel the accusation hit her like a bolt of ice directly in her sternum. Shame and arousal mingled intoxicatingly in her blood, thickening it and slowing her heartbeat to an agonizingly thunderous pace.

_Am I that transparent?_

The desire demon drifted over to Eilwyn, and she made a lazy tutting sound.

“You are, sweet mage. It’s written in your posture, your pupils. Etched into your essence, and so easy to spy on.”

“I am not ashamed of how I feel,” Eilwyn stated.

Vaguely, she knew that she could just attack, be done with this, but for some reason her limbs felt rigid and stuck. She tried to control her breathing, to partition her mind so that Alistair’s face could recede from her thoughts. The demon gave a little chuckle.

“You aren’t, are you? Then why are you blushing?” Before Eilwyn could respond, the demon gave a gasp. “Why, you’ve never even been kissed, have you?”

Eilwyn’s lips parted, and she could feel something at the back of her mind. A burning pit, hot embers, like a headache made from flame.

“He doesn’t need to know this, girl. Give me my life, and I can give you yours, in a manner of speaking. I can give you his heart on a silver platter. I can make him look at you and see everything he’s ever wanted, instead of your inexperience. You wear your innocence like a collar and leash, but you could be taught to wield it as a weapon... for the right price.” The demon tilted her head. “So? What say you?”

Eilwyn closed her mouth, then swallowed hard.

“I say you’ve talked enough,” Eilwyn said.

“Think hard before you reject this offer, girl,” the demon insisted, her voice taking on a level of cruelty that reminded Eilwyn strangely of Cullen. “He will not want you as you are now, I can say that with absolute certainty.”

“Then he will not want me,” Eilwyn snapped, drawing her staff from its strap across her back. “You cannot tempt me with what he will not freely give, demon!”

With a snap of electricity, she gave a scream and lunged for the apparition just as she should have done in the beginning.

* * *

“Eilwyn!”

She blinked, saw unfamiliar ridge beams, and felt the warmth of a fire at her side. She moved to speak, but then immediately rolled to her side and retched.

All of the pain from the Fade, all of the wooziness, came rushing into her at full velocity and left her stomach in knots and wet tangles. Eilwyn clutched at her abdomen, groaning aloud, a pitiful mess. She heaved once more, an unconscious response, as she tried her best to keep the meager contents of her dinner within her stomach.

Whoever had called her name moved out of the way, and she could hear water in a basin sloshing. As she struggled to breathe in more than shallow gasps, Eilwyn felt a cool rag at the back of her neck. It helped considerably, and she dragged in long gulps of air as her stomach finally began to settle.

“There, there,” Wynne said gently. “You’re alright. You’ve come back, you’re alright.”

Eilwyn held her eyes closed as she tried to regain her bearings without the physical world crashing into her pupils. She could smell cedar burning, fresh linens, and the empty bottles of lyrium the mages had used to send her forth. Beneath her was a straw mat, laid out perhaps once she had completed the ritual. She could hear voices, soft or perhaps just very far away? They were talking about pyres.

“C-Connor?” she managed to get out.

“He is safe. He insisted on standing at his mother’s side as they… convened outside,” Wynne finished lamely.

Eilwyn had no energy to ask her what she meant. Whatever was going on outside was taken care of, more likely than not, and she needed to focus on reknitting her spirit back with her body in the meantime. She stayed on the floor, hunched over on her side with her arms pulled close to her chest and her knees tucked up to her belly, until the feeling of wanting to vomit herself inside-out subsided.

“Everyone else?” she asked after the nausea had passed. She could do no more than that, her throat scratchy from Maker knew what.

_Never done something like that before._

_Andraste’s arse, I feel like I’ve swallowed snail mucus covered in quill nibs._

Wynne wrung out the cloth once more over a basin of cold water and moved to press it Eilwyn’s forehead, a look of peace settling over her features.

“They are fine. Nothing happened on this end, besides an inordinate amount of fussing.”

“Who fussed?” Eilwyn grunted.

“I will let you guess,” Wynne chuckled.

“Hmm,” she opened one eye. “Sten.”

“No,” her senior enchanter said with a wry smile. “If anything, our Qunari friend was very adept at making the fussing stop.”

“So he talked Alistair off a nervous ledge, then?” Eilwyn guessed, holding back a groan at the way speaking in longer sentences made her want to hurl. She suppressed it, tried to move past it, and eventually exhaled in relief when the urge subsided. “How much threatening did it take?”

“Not much. The young man seems to respect him, or at least fear him. When Sten insisted that he either quiet down or leave, Alistair merely paced at your side for a couple of hours.”

_A couple of hours._

“I think that Alistair being in this place did nothing to ease the nerves of sending you, once more, into a dangerous situation,” Wynne answered. “His strong reaction was kind of to be expected.”

Eilwyn grunted. She didn’t want to think or move lest she upset her stomach again. The thought of Alistair at all was enough to send her guts into a happy, fluttery panic already.

“Here,” Wynne touched a paste to Eilwyn’s lips, and she parted them gladly. “Put that under your tongue for a while. It should help the nausea.”

She mumbled a thank you past what tasted like embrium and peppermint. It wasn’t the most pleasant of combinations, but with every swallow Eilwyn did feel more and more herself again. She sighed, closing her eyes as Wynne recounted how it had looked to everyone on the outside. She tried not to think of anything except laying still and pressing each individual muscle on her body, one by one, more deeply into the cot below her.

* * *

Hours later, after everyone had returned from sending off the pyres with Teagan and the Arlessa, the castle began to come to life once more. Isolde sent them off with a bit of food from the Redcliffe larders as a thank you, after a rather tense discussion about what to do with Jowan. Seeing her with Connor at her side, the little boy’s eyes so wide and fatigued as he told Eilwyn thank you, was enough to lift her spirits for the night. Pairing that with a block of good cheese and a few biscuits still warm from the kitchen made the night incredible.

They sat about the fire as Zevran and Leliana insisted on cooking supper, and Morrigan asked her questions about what speaking with a desire demon was like. Eilwyn accepted her beratement over not taking the skills offered to her, and she marveled at the unflinching tenacity at bettering herself that Morrigan seemed to embody.

_I’m not like that. Definitely not confident enough to think I could wield whatever a demon gave me._

Over the next hour, once the food was ready, the company chatted away and discussed what was next for them. They had allied with the mages of the Circle, certainly a formidable force- but there were still other armies to consider vying for in preparation for the Blight.

“There are the treaties with Orzammar to pursue,” Sten said, licking a crumb of cheese from his thumb as he set down his plate. “I would suggest traveling there.”

“Or, we could stay outside while there’s still a chance for sunlight during the day,” Leliana piped up, “and go to the Brecilian Forest first. Track down the Dalish and see if we can’t ask them for their aid, then save our trip to Orzammar for when the winter comes.”

“I fail to see what difference it makes,” Sten stated. “We will be cold either way.”

“I actually want to go to Denerim before we do anything else,” Eilwyn interrupted.

Everyone turned to look at her, including a bewildered Alistair from across the fire. She finished chewing her hardtack biscuit and primly flicked a crumb from the corner of her mouth.

“I… have a few errands I must run there," she squeaked. "Before we do anything else.”

She realized she had repeated herself when Leliana covered a small laugh with a throat clear. Looking up, Eilwyn watched as Alistair’s eyes lit up, just for a moment, and then he exhaled sharply.

_Does it surprise him that I remember?_

“What business do you have in Denerim?” Morrigan asked, sounding disdainful. “It is a dirty city, and we should avoid traipsing near where Loghain can so easily send incompetent assassins to try to stick you.”

“Was it incompetence or good fortune that drove me to her arms, I wonder,” Zevran piped up as he spooned soup into his mouth.

“Mind your biscuits, fool,” Morrigan snipped, sparing Zevran only a passing, withering glance before she turned back to the Grey Warden. “Eilwyn, pray tell us what you intend to do there. Perhaps, if you inform me of your intention, we can find other, less obvious places to fulfill-”

“Important things,” Eilwyn said, shrugging. “I… ah,” she fumbled, searching her brain for something that would not expose what Alistair had asked her in what she felt like was confidance.

“The Mage Collective,” Alistair piped up.

Wynne nodded, as if she’d forgotten and appreciated the reminder, but Morrigan narrowed her eyes.

_She doesn't buy it._

“There are several tasks we’ve completed for Eilwyn’s people,” Alistair said.

Eilwyn shot him a sideways glance, not sure how she felt about all mages being called _her people_. When Morrigan looked away, she saw Alistair give her a desperate little shrug.

“Also, Brother Genitivi’s home is in Denerim, is it not?” Leliana said.

That was what broke Morrigan of her suspicious glare, seeing as she had to roll her eyes to reply to the remark.

“Oh not this again. The ashes of some woman will not-”

Eilwyn tuned them out. She was caught, looking over the fire at the man who’d joined her in keeping a secret. It was a small one, one that a few of their friends might suss out regardless, but it felt… meaningful?

As she watched him set his plate to the side, she noticed he mouthed something to her across the flames.

_“Are you done eating?”_

That’s what it looked like anyway. To be sure, Eilwyn held up her plate from her lap with an inquisitive eyebrow raise. She mouthed back _“I’m finished”_ , and Alistair let out a shaky sigh that was audible even from where she sat. She watched as he glanced around the fire, and she did the same, but nobody was paying them any attention.

Maker’s breath, her heart raced at that. She found Alistair’s eyes once more beyond the orange lick of the flames.

He bit his lip, bit back what looked like the start of a smile, and wordlessly asked, _“Can you follow me?”_

Or perhaps it was "care to follow me" or "can a fellow be", but no matter what her answer would be the same.

Eilwyn gave a little nod of confirmation, her eyes wide and her pulse hammering in her wrists.

Alistair stood up, stretching rather over-emphatically.

“Well, I’m going to go take a walk. Scout the perimter. You know, first watch and all," he said.

“Yes, yes, go talk to the dog,” Morrigan muttered. “Leave the strategics to the grown-ups, as is your wont.”

“Well, if you insist,” Alistair shot back.

Eilwyn glanced around the fire as Alistair walked off past his own tent. They had set up in a glade, near another, smaller, rockier waterfall than the one they had passed in summer to get to Redcliffe. The air was substantially chillier now than it had been, and there would be no swimming in this particular stream.

But it would offer a pleasant blanket of white noise.

Eilwyn tried not to look suspicious. She stared at her plate, unseeing, and out of the corner of her eye, she could see Alistair pause and look back over his shoulder. Right as she was about to set her plate down as well, someone sat next to her.

“Pardon my audacity, little dove,” Zevran asked, his voice low as the women heatedly continued their planning to her right. Eilwyn glanced over, and she could already feel the blush of shyness creeping up her neck.

_Hold it together._

“Yes?”

“Again, it is forward of me,” Zevran cooed. “But are you about to sneak off for a little rendez-vous, or am I imagining things?”

“Um,” Eilwyn tucked into herself, her elbows collapsing a bit as she instinctively hunched over and lowered her voice to just barely audible levels. “That obvious?”

“To those who know of midnight trysts, your signals are like bright beacons, yes,” Zevran whispered, chuckling to himself. “Although, one has to wonder why someone so earnest feels the need to sneak about?”

Eilwyn didn’t get it, didn’t know if she _wanted_ to get it, but there wasn’t time to really ponder it.

“You really think so, my little dove?” Zevran asked her, his voice no longer a whisper.

“Mmm… hmm?” Eilwyn agreed, not sure what he was doing.

“Well, if you think it will help. By all means. I have never really bothered with such a root in Antiva, but then again, we sleep like babies thanks to the wine.”

_Oh. I see._

“I would be much obliged should you have the time to search for it, but do not feel obligated,” Zevran stated, giving her boot a light tap with his own. "There are a few hours yet where I may find myself drifting naturally off to sleep."

He sounded so convincing that even Eilwyn herself, for a minute, was loathe to suspect him of playing. But then he cleared his throat pointedly at her as he raised another spoonful of soup to his lips.

“I, ah, yes,” she stuttered, finally playing along. “No, I mean. It’s no trouble at all.”

She stood up, taking her plate over to where the others were stacking them.

“I can clean these, while I’m at it?” she asked, hoping someone would say no.

Normally she didn’t mind doing little chores before she went to bed, seeing as she was a terrible cook. In her mind, she'd thought it would look suspicious if she walked off towards the water without even offering to grab them. But Sten saved her the trouble as he held up a hand.

“Leave them. It is not your turn.”

“You have done enough for today, dear,” Wynne said, as Leliana and Morrigan tore a map from their bags to argue about the most direct route to take to Denerim. “You should take a moment for yourself. Go find whatever you were going to get for Zevran.”

Eilwyn flinched a bit.

_Does she…?_

Wynne gave her a long, slow blink. Like a cat, when the animal is comfortable with someone new, or has eaten something it shouldn’t have and was boasting about its skills.

_I don’t want to know._

Having hesitated long enough, Eilwyn ignored her party members’ varying degrees of perception and turned heel immediately. She headed for where she’d seen Alistair duck beyond the line of sight of the fire, back towards where she knew the waterfall to be.

_Don’t think about it._

_Don’t think about anything, really._

_What’s there even to think about?_

Luckily Eilwyn made it to the falls before her mind had a chance to work itself up further into a tizzy. He was waiting there, down a little ridge that led them to the waterside, and Maker he looked so relaxed.

There were rocks hiding the spray of the falls from hitting them, which did make for a conversation cover just as she had expected, but it was substantially colder over here than she’d thought. Crossing her arms in front of herself, she made her way to where he was leaning against the falls.

“Hey,” he whispered, and she noticed he was holding his arms as well. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” she let out a breath. Maker, it was good to speak to him again after… everything, really. “I'm a little chilly. How about you?"

“I’m fine. Surprisingly. I mean you’d think after everything we've been through, I’d be at the very least sleepy or something,” Alistair said with what sounded like disbelief.

Eilwyn gave a polite laugh, and held herself tighter. Alistair looked her over, and she felt strangely as if she was being assessed. When he spoke, his voice was almost stern, which took her by surprise.

“Now that you’ve gotten a chance to settle down, I wanted to talk to you about what happened in Redcliffe.”

“I already told everyone about the demon-” Eilwyn started to say, but Alistair stepped forward and shook his head.

“No, I, ah... I wanted to thank you.” He paused, shrugging. “You went out of your way to save the arl’s family, and you did it.”

Eilwyn thought she could see his jaw clench, but then he smiled and let out a little relieved noise that made her heart skip a beat.

“Even though it would have been easier if you didn’t,” he finished softly.

Eilwyn cleared her throat, uncertain what to do with such praise.

“You know I couldn’t leave Connor to die.” Gazing up at Alistair in the clear moonlight, she gave him a sad smile. “I felt like… in a way, it was my fault, after all.”

“What? You know that’s not-”

“I do,” she stated, a bit more prickly than she’d intended to. She made an effort to soften her tone. “I know that that’s not what I did, not really. But I still feel as if I should have been better back in the Circle. With Jowan. If I had, maybe none of this would have ever happened in the first place.”

Alistair fell quiet. Eilwyn cut herself off, and they both turned to look at the stream before them. After a few moments of reflection, Alistair spoke up. He sighed, folding his hands before him as he leaned against the rockface once more.

“I could have prevented this, too, if I had stopped myself from lashing out towards Arl Eamon back when I was young.”

Eilwyn felt her brow knit together.

_No. You couldn’t have._

“I wouldn’t have been sent to the Chantry if I’d just been more compassionate towards Isolde, maybe made more of an effort to be helpful around the estate. I could’ve stayed, and made sure Arl Eamon was more careful and that Connor was safe when his magic manifested.” He turned to Eilwyn, and she could see from his expression that he didn't believe anything he'd just said. “It’s not quite the same, but do you see what I mean?”

She pursed her lips, feeling uncooperative, but she couldn’t make herself shake her head. It wasn't the same, but maybe he did have a point. Still, it did very little to erase the guilt she carried with her just beneath her ribcage.

“If it helps you any,” Alistair added, “I think if it was really your responsibility, which it's not… I'd say that saving Connor erased that misdeed, Eilwyn.”

She turned to glance at him over her shoulder, shivering a bit.

“You really think so?” she asked. "Even where Jowan's concerned?"

“Especially where he's concerned," Alistair muttered. "You listened to his pain now, and you were kind when the rest of us didn’t necessarily feel he deserved that much.”

“Hmm.” Eilwyn twisted the corner of her lip, still slightly dissatisfied.

“There’s been so much death and destruction, you know?” Alistair said, sighing. “You have to know you did a good thing. Several good things. Probably more good things than most people have energy for in the span of a week, mind you.”

Eilwyn let out a scoff of a laugh that felt suspiciously tired.

“It made me feel good, anyway, that we were able to save something,” he admitted at her side. “No matter how small. I know you did it for your own reasons, of course, but,” Alistair paused, and she could hear him inhale deeply. “I owed the arl that much.”

Instead of saying anything to that, Eilwyn reached over and looped her arm through his. Holding onto his elbow with both of her arms, she leaned onto his side as they overlooked the water moving swiftly past them and the forest beyond.

“Are you…” Alistair cleared his throat. “Are you angry with me? For the way I postponed our talk, before?”

Eilwyn’s chest felt cold at the question, in the same pleasant way a dip in a refreshing pool felt cold in the summer heat. The idea that he would think to ask was noble. Still, she debated feigning ignorance. Part of her was still petulant that she'd told him how much he meant to her and he has essentially brushed her off. But even in the darkness where she knew he would swallow everything she told him, Eilwyn could not lie to him.

“No," she whispered. "I’m not angry, and I never was.”

“Oh,” he settled against her, and Eilwyn hadn’t realized he’d been keeping his shoulders tense until that moment. “G-good. I… I thought a lot about what I said to you, and it was rather…”

“You don’t have to apologize,” Eilwyn said. Even as she admitted it, though, she could feel dread building in her stomach. It was a never-ending dance between the thrilling feelings and the insecure when Alistair was around, enough to drive her mad.

_If he feels obligated to do it in order to keep me happy, it won’t mean nearly as much as if he-_

“I want to,” he said, as if she’d spoken aloud. It was such an extension of her thoughts that Eilwyn let out a nervous titter, then immediately clapped a palm to cover her lips, lest more awkward noises escape. Alistair’s hand came up to cover her fingers where they latched onto his gauntlet. “Are you alright?”

“Yes, fine. Sorry,” she stammered. “You were saying?”

“I want to apologize,” Alistair said, more firmly this time. He turned, not loosening his hold on her, and Eilwyn had no choice but to look up at him in the moonlight with one hand covering her lips.

“Okay,” she breathed.

_Have faith._

“I had this… idea,” Alistair said quietly. “Of how things should be between us."

"Okay," she repeated. "What is it?"

"I count myself among your friends," he said softly. "I hope that isn't rude of me to say."

Eilwyn tried to blink, her expression a mix between surprise and excitement. She tried to keep it from showing on her face, but Maker, it was so difficult not to.

"It's not rude."

"Good," Alistair exhaled, as if that was one step he'd worried over. He moved on to the next one. "It's been strange, navigating how I feel about... well, everything lately. Before you and the others came to Ostagar, I remember speaking with Duncan about what it meant to be your senior Warden. What was expected of me. It's weighed on me since."

He paused, as if gathering his thoughts, shuffling them together so that they'd make sense aloud.

"He told me," Alistair continued, "to set an example for you."

"You did," Eilwyn said as he took a break to seemingly settle his mind.

"By letting you take the lead in all of our decision-making?"

Eilwyn said nothing. It hadn't offended her, or made her think less of him. It made sense, in a way, that he deferred to her in his grief. She couldn't imagine needing to sort out losing a family with how to move on in stopping a Blight. She'd been happy to step up to the plate and do what she could.

Had they not had Connor to contend with after the Circle, she would have been much in the same boat.

"I'm glad I made a positive impression, regardless," Alistair remarked, with more than a bit of amusement in his voice. He seemed to sober, though, in order to continue. "You've impressed me, continuously, since we've met. I'm ashamed I haven't told you sooner."

She bit her lip, waiting. She wanted to speak, but it felt like the wrong time, like he had to say what he needed before she interjected. Alistair took a deep breath, let it out slow, and then continued.

"When I first met you, Eilwyn, I confess that I was frightened for you. I thought that the Joining would pose more of a risk to someone like you,and that you might not survive. And it broke my heart to think on.”

She let that sink in, staying silent for a few heartbeats.

“Was it because of the crying?” she asked, her voice self-deprecating and low.

“No,” Alistair started to say, but then he kind of laughed. “Well, partly. But also because I saw the way you hesitated to use your magic. When we were in the Wilds, don’t think I've forgotten how you fought.”

“Was it bad?” she whispered. "I... I don't remember."

Her one hand was still on his elbow, and she noticed that Alistair had responded by holding hers as well. They were locked together on that side, now. She moved her other hand tentatively to his waist, and was rewarded with the way his lips parted. Like he was surprised, in a good way, that she would even touch him of her own volition. Alistair responded in kind, moving his other hand to curve about the small of her back.

_He's actually holding me._

“Alistair?” she whispered.

“Mmm?”

“How did I fight?” she reminded him with a smile. He swallowed, then gave her a weak laugh.

“Right. Ah... in the Wilds, you barely attacked,” he said, glancing away as if he were reliving the image of it. “You spent all of your mana protecting me and the other recruits, downing lyrium potions one after the other to grant you the pool you needed to keep up a barrier about our shoulders. I worried you'd overdose, to be quite honest.”

She frowned. She remembered attacking, had recalled the horrifying way the darkspawn had screamed in pain. She’d hated them, but they had still screamed because of her, and that had been hard to live with. She remembered drinking several lyrium draughts, enough to make her feel woozy, that much was true. But the rest was fuzzy, blanked in her mind. She struggled to recall as Alistair kept talking.

“I remember the pond, when it started raining.”

“What?” Eilwyn asked, thrown from her thoughts.

"The pond. You don't remember?"

She shook her head, trying to recall.

“When it started raining, you knelt by the pond and picked a flower. As you were folding it in your handkerchief, you called me over and told me it was beautiful,” Alistair replied. “I didn't get it, at first. It was strange to see just how amazing you found the world. Nothing was taken for granted. It made me worry about you, though. You seemed so distracted by the minutiae that I felt I had to redouble my efforts to protect you.”

“Sorry,” Eilwyn said with a smile.

“No, don’t be,” Alistair answered. “I… like it.”

Eilwyn’s expression fell away, and she could only look up at him with awe as he kept talking past the blush that had bloomed on his cheeks.

“In the tower of Ishal, after you survived the Joining, I worried you would be so rocked from the fighting that night that you would lose that part of yourself. The part of you that liked looking at rain on ponds, replaced with a part that would be forever afraid."

Alistair paused, a sad smile playing on his lips, and Eilwyn felt her breathing grow shallow in anticipation.

"I should have trusted the instinct Duncan saw in you," Alistair continued. “That first time we truly fought side by side, when we lit the signal together and found we'd been betrayed, I saw what Duncan saw. I could pinpoint the ferocity Duncan did. Every time we put a wave down, you held your hand out like you wanted to make sure I was still there. Such focus in your eyes…”

Alistair glanced back down at her, and his gaze seemed to strip her bare before him. Nobody had ever dissected so much about her before. But she kept his gaze with an unflinching stare.

“I'm not a warrior like you,” she answered, blinking away the sting of the memory from the corner of her eye. "Protecting you was the only thing I could do."

“And that's what makes you such a powerful Grey Warden,” Alistair said resolutely, his tone changing from one of soft contemplation to something more solid, something he seemed to enjoy. His voice almost seemed to embody…

_Pride._

She scoffed before she could stop the noise, irreverence in her tone.

“What? My propensity to avoid violence whenever I can?” Eilwyn teased, but Alistair merely nodded.

“Yes. Anyone can wield a sharp thing and hurt people who they deem are bad. But you... you are so stubborn with your kindness, and absolutely too nice for your own good. And it's that tenacious soft side that makes you so powerful,” he gave her a little nudge with his palm, bringing her even closer to his chest. Eilwyn gasped, and her hand slid from his waist further back. "You proved that to everyone, with how you handled Redcliffe. With what you did for Connor."

"Why are you telling me all of this?" Eilwyn whispered, her lower lip trembling. "Not that I don't love hearing it, but..." she gave a weak laugh. "This is a rather long apology."

Alistair glanced out, past her messy braids, out towards the stream behind her shoulder. He looked as if he were sorting out something very important in his mind, and Eilwyn searched for something she could say to bring him back from the memory he was visiting.

"I wanted to tell you this because I saw the way you watched the lake, after we left Kinloch," he whispered. "For a moment, you weren't... there. I don't ever want you to doubt yourself like you seemed to in that moment."

Eilwyn looked down, focusing on Alistair's gleaming moonlit armor instead of the open honesty he embodied in his eyes. It was easier to ignore the way his lips quirked at her in a semblance of a smile, easier to ignore how eager and torn and confused she felt in his presence than to look at how close he was.

"I... was shaken," she admitted thickly. Swallowing back her sadness at the memory, Eilwyn tried again. "When we left the Kinloch, I didn't know if I wanted to do this anymore. I couldn't... feel anything."

He turned back to her, distracted, looking like he thought he might’ve misheard.

“I couldn't force myself to even sleep,” she whispered. She glanced at Alistair’s mouth by accident, or perhaps by instinct, but then had to drag her gaze back up to where his eyes had stayed trained on hers. "I'm sorry I worried you. I'll try to be stronger in the future."

He licked his lower lip, quirking it to the side as he contemplated what she'd said.

“I think you already showed considerable strength. I could never have handled all of that in the Circle tower as compassionately as you did,” he said faintly.

“Yes you could have,” she laughed, but Alistair dipped his head to make sure she kept her eyes on his.

“No, Eilwyn, I almost didn’t,” he stated firmly. She stopped smiling, confused, and he shook his head. “Maker’s breath, the way he talked to you. I was so close to breaking.”

_He?_

_Does Alistair mean Uldred, in the end? What did he say to me again?_

Eilwyn’s lips parted, and all of the air she had in her body seemed to flee in a gasp as she realized what he was talking about.

_No... not Uldred..._

“You mean Cullen,” she whispered.

Alistair’s jaw clenched at the man’s name, and Eilwyn couldn't believe her eyes.

It seemed almost like Alistair was upset on her behalf, which was overwhelming in and of itself. Not only that, but Alistair looked like he had held onto that disgruntled feeling so tightly that he could still experience it fresh in this very moment. The idea was preposterous, and yet Alistair gave a huff of annoyance as if to illustrate her point.

“You handled him with such patience," Alistair spat. "He kept lashing out, and you kept responding with such sweetness, and all I could think about was finding a way to take down the barrier so I could make him take it all back.” Alistair shook his head once more, and his face fell. “It was unworthy of me, to think such things about a man who had undergone horrible torture. I don't think he could have meant all that he said. But I found myself glad we were leaving him behind. I... almost hoped nobody would free him.”

Eilwyn frowned. It was difficult to imagine Alistair was capable of a thought like that.

_I had a similar thought, too, in the wake of his insults._

“Why the strong reaction?" she asked. "Because he wanted me to kill the other mages?”

“No,” Alistair sneered, seemingly at the memory. But then his expression mollified slightly and he amended, “Not just that, anyway.”

“Then what?”

“The way he talked about you was cold, judgmental, listing out your personality and dissecting it as if… as if he _knew_ you. But he doesn’t. Didn't. And maybe it’s presumptuous of me to say, maybe it’s not my place since I wasn't in your Circle the way you two were, but the man was a total arse.”

“Alistair-”

“Sorry,” he interrupted lightly, and Eilwyn could hear that his breathing had quickened.

His hand fell away from the small of her back and came to press against his own cheek, but still she stayed near. Even if the nerves were killing her, even if she wanted to turn heel and go back to the fire where it was warm and conversation wasn’t as difficult, she couldn’t. Not after realizing how much she wanted this, to hear his truth and tell him hers. She owed it to Alistair to hear him out, but more than that, she owed it to herself.

_I won’t run off again._

Alistair gave a nervous chuckle as he pressed his cold glove to his cheeks, like he wanted to take away the heat of a fever with the chill from his leathers. After a minute, he took a deep breath and continued.

“It’s just that… you deserved more than that," he said faintly.

Eilwyn sniffled, holding back the wealth of emotions that she found entangled in her chest. There was hope, awe, and a strange sense of piqued interest threaded through every single one of her heartbeats. They only grew in strength when Alistair looked down at her and smiled.

“This was not how I was hoping the apology would go, by the way,” he murmured as he glanced off towards the stream. Eilwyn gave a polite huff of a laugh, and Alistair turned more fully towards the open air. It opened them both up to the crispness flowing off of the water, to breathing in deeper breaths. Instead of holding her almost crushed to his chest, they both overlooked the path of the waterfall spray once more side by side, the rock at their left shielding them from the worst of the droplets.

Consumed by the desire to keep close, Eilwyn edged nearer and tucked herself into Alistair’s shoulder without even asking. He moved his arm so that it was about her shoulders, and he rubbed her arm up and down as he finally found his words.

“I don't know if I've ever asked you what your favorite color is,” Alistair said, and Eilwyn was startled. She gave a laugh.

"Where did this come from?"

"Just trying to lighten the mood, I suppose," he muttered. "Sorry if it's strange to-"

“You'll never guess. Want to try?” Eilwyn asked, her voice hopefully conveying how happy the little inquiry made her. The idea that Alistair wanted to collect facts about her made her feel appreciated, even if his timing was a bit weird.

“Hmm." Alistair sounded like he was smirking into the night. "I feel like this is too easy, magelet."

"You think so?"

"Yes," he sighed. "It's definitely purple.”

“Nope,” Eilwyn shook her head against his chest, snickering lightly.

“Wait, what?” Alistair pulled away a bit to glance down at her, like he was trying to gauge if she was serious or not. “But… all of your stuff is purple.”

“Yes,” Eilwyn shrugged. “And besides my Harrowing robe, I’ve never really picked out my own armor. I take what’s given to me, and it’s just happened to be that color.”

“Oh.” Alistair paused, as if disappointed. "So... what color do you really like, then?"

“Burgundy,” Eilwyn said immediately. “Wine red, that deep, rich color that you find on fine velvet. If I had my way, nothing I owned would be purple anymore."

"Why is that?"

"Purple feels like an apprentice color, to me. For babies.”

“And red is more noble?”

Eilwyn nodded.

“Huh.” Alistair made a noise like he was happy to hear that, and they fell silent for a bit.

After several minutes of enjoying the clear, refreshing calm of the night and the stars above them, Alistair pulled away from Eilwyn's side. His hand stayed on her shoulder, his thumb lingering by her collarbone, and for a heartstopping moment she felt a prick of fear.

_Is this it?_

_Is it over, and we're to walk back to camp as if nothing happened?_

But then he reached inside a pocket of his and pulled out a little journal. It was about the size of his hand, maybe a bit longer, and rather thin. Leather-bound, it seemed to contain several pages roughly cut, as if not made by a professional. Seeing it distracted her from her worries, and Eilwyn crossed her arms over her chest as she waited for him to elaborate.

“Here,” Alistair opened it up to the middle page and then handed the journal to her. “Look at this. Do you know what this is?”

Eilwyn looked down, and between the pages of the book she saw a thickly pressed flower. She reached down, hesitantly drawing her fingertips down its deep crimson petals. Besides a few wrinkles, it felt impossibly supple.

“I-is this a trick question?” she asked, unsure of how she should answer.

Alistair’s eyes crinkled as he smirked.

“Yes, absolutely. I’m trying to trick you, is it working?”

Eilwyn gave a nervous giggle.

“Ah, I just about had you didn’t I?” he groaned, feigning disappointment. When he saw Eilwyn smile up at him in the darkness, he laughed, and some of the tension was eased.

“It looks like a rose,” Eilwyn said. “Do you mind if I…?”

She waggled her fingers upwards, signifying she wanted to cast some light, and Alistair nodded his acquiescence. With a flick of her fingers, Eilwyn sent a few honey-colored bumbling lights floating harmlessly into the air surrounding them. They illuminated everything in a soft glow, but the light was clear enough that she could make out the color. It was indeed a dark red rose.

“Is it… this was what you were holding last night,” Eilwyn posited, tilting her head to the side as she held the book up closer to her face.

“Maybe.” In the soft shimmer of the magelights, she could see Alistair’s mouth tighten, and she wondered if he was blushing.

“Have you had it for a while, then?” she asked. “Or did you get it in Redcliffe?”

“I picked it in Lothering, actually,” Alistair said, holding his hand out for the journal.

“No way,” Eilwyn gasped as she handed it back to him. “That long ago? But it still feels so soft!”

“When it started to dry, I just brushed a bit of oil on as I pressed it.” Alistair chuckled. “Half expected the thing to shatter under my hand, but you can even peel it off the page and it stays intact. It was by total accident, I swear. Would you… would you like to hold it?”

“Yes,” she whispered, holding her hands out. “If that’s alright!”

Not only was it her favorite color, which was admittedly rather hard to see even with her magelights, but it smelled of Alistair’s oils. And it was his.

_How could I say no?_

“I remember thinking, ‘How could something so beautiful exist in a place filled with so much despair and ugliness?’” he said softly. As Eilwyn watched, enchanted, Alistair picked it up from the page and held it up by its stem. He twirled it once, demonstrating that the leaves and the flower petals were not as fragile as they seemed, and then passed it over to Eilwyn. She took it between her thumb and forefinger gingerly, aware of the ever-present thorns lining the stem, and held it to her nose before she realized it would be stupid to.

It was instinct, something she did before she thought about the fact that there might not be any perfume left. But when she inhaled, was rewarded with a whiff of its past soul still lingering deep within the bloom. She caught sweetness, that distinctive headiness that made roses so unmistakable in her mind, and it called to mind an image of an empty Chantry chapel. With its stained glass windows letting smokey, pink light filter in from the outside world, it was an image of safety and beauty all at once.

Eilwyn was reminded of these emotions in a rush, and she was left feeling much as she had after surviving Ostagar: as if she had been brushed past by many spirits, all at once, all of them kind.

“It’s precious,” she whispered, her voice weak with the random emotional surge within her breast.

“I probably should have left it alone, but I couldn’t,” Alistair continued, watching her take the object in. “The darkspawn would come and their taint would just destroy it. So I’ve had it ever since.”

Eilwyn looked up at him over the petals, his earnest expression framed by her fireflies.

“That’s a beautiful sentiment, Alistair,” she said. Something akin to pride filled her veins, though she could barely recognize why. She always knew he was a bit of a soft touch, but this damn near paralyzed her with the charm of it all. It was an innocent moment, something impossibly unmarred by everything else. Alistair seemed touched by her words, or maybe it was the shadows playing across his face from the magelights that made him look so dreamy.

“I thought that I might,” his voice got quieter, more serious, “give it to you, actually.”

Eilwyn’s heart redoubled in strength, beating out a protest against her ribcage. She almost lost her footing, so quickly did giddiness suffuse her.

“M-me?”

_He isn’t serious, is he?_

“Yes. In a lot of ways, I think the same thing when I look at you.”

Eilwyn stared at him, and for one blissful moment everything was frozen in time. The way Alistair was looking at her with affectionate apprehension, the way he was clutching the journal before himself, how the rose smelled as its petals grazed her lips in a hush of a kiss.

“You think of me as a gentle flower?” Eilwyn asked, rather touched.

“A _gentle_ flower?” Alistair grinned, mirth obvious in the way he snickered. “No, I don’t know that I’d put it that way.”

“Hey!” A laugh bubbled up immediately, her affection momentarily subsiding as she reached across to playfully hit him on the shoulder with her free hand.

“What?” he smiled wider and made a grand show of flinching. “See? That proves it, right here. You are an intimidating flower, if anything.”

She gave a playful grimace, one that she knew he wouldn’t take to heart, and then looked back to the gift. If it was really for her, she didn’t know what to say. It was a trifling thing, maybe, but to her…

_I can’t remember the last time someone’s given me something so incredible._

Once she was holding the rose back up to her nose to inhale its perfume again, Alistair seemed to grow pensive once more.

“I suppose it’s a bit silly isn’t it? To give you something you could pick off the side of the road yourself. But I just thought,” he drew in a great breath, bringing one hand up to scratch at his forehead. “Here I am, doing all this complaining. And you haven’t exactly been having a good time of it yourself. Especially seeing all that you went through at Kinloch, all that you had to endure.”

Eilwyn watched him in the dark, her heart scarcely beating. It felt as if the world were far away from her, as if she were very deep inside herself looking up from a well of happiness that felt like warmth and tingly-lightness. On the outside, she stood still and regarded Alistair with what she hoped was a kind, unassuming smile.

Inside, however, she was barely restraining the urge to clutch the fragile rose to her chest and flop backwards onto a bed of some sort, kicking at the mattress until all of the pent-up energy from wanting to be close to this sweetheart was spent and she could lay there, exhausted.

“You’ve had none of the good experience of being a Grey Warden since your Joining,” Alistair said, sounding as if he regretted this even though he had no hand in it. “Not a word of thanks or congratulations. It’s all been death and fighting and tragedy, and you've more than risen above it all. Your compassion saved us, and yet you've barely been given the appreciation you deserve. I thought... I thought maybe I could say something.”

He stepped forward, just enough for their boots to touch at the toes, and then reached out to brush her hair back behind her ear with one of his gloved hands.

“What would you say?” Eilwyn whispered, beguiled beyond words.

With a halo of bobbing orbs about him, Alistair gave her a smile she hadn’t seen before. It was lovely, calm, radiating a kind of pull.

_It’s… for me. That smile is just for me._

“I’d tell you what a rare and wonderful thing you are to find amidst all this… darkness.”

Eilwyn felt her lips part, her world tilting on its axis.

_He thinks I’m…_

“You think I’m wonderful?” she whispered.

He nodded, glancing down at the rose between them as he did so.

“I should still apologize, though,” he said grimly. “Yesterday, when you tried to speak with me about… how you felt, I brushed you off. It was callous of me, and unfair to you. I am so sorry.”

“It’s already forgiv-”

“I had it in my mind that this would be a more accurate way of showing you what I thought of you than just… _blurgh_ , spilling words on you,” he practically moaned, his hushed tone adding an urgency to the whisper. “I had been thinking this over for a while, trying to gather the courage to pull you aside without making you feel second-guessed, or worse. And then you beat me to it and I felt so unworthy of the way you looked at me-"

Eilwyn let out something crossed between a laugh and a gasp, a little noise of surprise that Alistair talked over.

"-but it wasn't in my pocket after the ambush. When I couldn’t find it on my person, I panicked.”

“I'm that special to you?" Eilwyn asked, her voice tender.

She felt like her brain was processing all of this too slowly. Alistair, luckily, looked as if he felt very much trapped in the same, overwrought boat. He made a poor attempt at a laugh, avoiding her question.

“It was a silly impulse, I suppose. Was it… the wrong one?”

Eilwyn blinked at the question, shocked that he would doubt its romance for a minute.

“No, not at all. It’s a lovely sentiment, and I adore it,” she insisted, grinning up at him in the dark as she carefully clutched the rose between her hands. She made sure to grasp it only at its stem, its petals untouched, and she steepled her fingers carefully about its thorns.

“I’m glad you like it,” Alistair said shyly. “Now, um, if we could move right on past this awkward, embarrassing stage and get right to the steamy bits, I’d appreciate it.”

Eilwyn blanched, her heart aflutter with what felt almost certainly like eagerness.

_A little fear, too, to be fair._

“You… mean kisses?” she asked, but as soon as the words were out of her mouth she realized Alistair’s expression had grown wide with shock.

“Oh, ha, you um…” he gave a feeble laugh. “You…”

Eilwyn turned back to the rose, inexplicably feeling as if she’d missed a joke somewhere in there. As if she was being made fun of. Alistair made a noise, a little cluck of his tongue against his teeth, and then his hand was back at her cheek to tilt her face up to meet his gaze.

“I’m sorry, that was a bit too much teasing. I thought... I assumed you'd tease me back, not look at me like..." Alistair smiled down at her, and Eilwyn could distinguish benevolence therein. "Forgive me, magelet. Big fool,” he said firmly, furrowing his brow as if he ever so desperately hoped for her forgiveness.

“Mmm... no words good,” she finished, allowing herself a small, uneasy smile in answer.

Alistair beamed down at her, and Eilwyn held back a gasp as he traced his thumb over the fullness of her cheek.

“However... if you wish to say thank you like we’ve done in the past,” he murmured, his voice shaky, “I wouldn’t be opposed. That is, only if you want to, of course.”

She narrowed her eyes, her mouth twisting to the side as she smirked.

“If you’re still teasing me-”

"Eilwyn."

"-I swear to the Maker-"

“Kiss me?” Alistair asked, his voice shaky and eager. "Please."

It took her a minute to respond. Her words were lost on the edge of her teeth, her mouth frozen in a parted pout. She blinked and tried to right herself, but she was shaken to her core that he had even uttered it aloud. For a second, she doubted she'd even heard him right, but from the way his skin began to radiate warmth, Eilwyn knew it was not a mistake.

_Wh... what kind of kiss?_

Eilwyn tilted her chin up a fraction, but did not raise on her tiptoes. Instead, Alistair bent his head down to her level. She figured that he would lead her to what he wanted, would show her what was okay and what wasn’t. She trusted him, and wanted him, and the two intermingling instincts made for so stimulating a cocktail that Eilwyn wondered if this was what being drunk felt like. As Alistair bent his head, he turned at the last second, offering her his cheek.

_Our version of a thank you._

She gave a happy sigh, so grateful that he wasn’t playing, so nervous that he was asking for this, and without hesitating Eilwyn bounced up to wrap her arms about his neck. She brushed several small kisses all along his cheek back towards his ear, the slight scratch of his stubble tickling at her lips and nose as she did so. He laughed, chuckling with her before she pulled completely away. When she looked at him as they separated, written in his eyes was something Eilwyn didn’t immediately recognize.

_Like desire, but not quite. Something warm, very magnetic. I can’t place it._

_I don’t know that anyone’s ever looked at me quite like that._

“Do you have someplace you can keep it, or would you like to borrow my book for now?” Alistair asked. Eilwyn pulled her arms down from where they rested at Alistair's collarbones, luckily finding the rose still intact as she did so.

“Oh, no, it’s okay, I have my herbalism journal on me at all times,” Eilwyn said. “I think it’ll fit there.”

She pulled the little journal from her pack, then thumbed it open to a page devoid of ink.

“Here, before I put it in,” she said, her tone conspiratorial and wicked. “You can see young-Eilwyn’s class notes, if you like.”

“Ooh, give it here,” Alistair said eagerly. “Did you doodle in the margins, or were you a good student?”

“Afraid I was very strict about my studies,” Eilwyn laughed. “No doodles.”

“Shame, that. You seem like the type who can draw really well.”

“If I’m looking at the object, I can do alright. Oh, look," she pointed excitedly down at a page Alistair had turned to. It was filled with diagrams of different plant dissections and then calculations for measurements from that. "That’s my first take on a recipe for reducing inflammation of the joints when dealing with repetitive motion injuries!”

Alistair glanced slowly to her, his eyes narrowing.

“What?” she asked. "What's wrong?"

“I knew you were creative, but that title,” he said. “I am simultaneously lost _and_ impressed."

Eilwyn suppressed a snort.

"How can you follow along with such a recipe, no less come up with it on your own?”

“We all have to go through rudimentary poison-making, herbalism, and components classes,” Eilwyn shrugged. “I just really enjoyed mine. So it came easily to me.”

“And then you went above and beyond, I see. Oof. Your handwriting is neat, neat, neat,” Alistair commented, drawing out the last word’s single syllable much longer than it had to be as he continued to flip through page after page. Eilwyn gave a little scoff and went to take her journal back when Alistair stopped her. “This looks like it’s the last entry. When was that?”

“My last was the day before my Harrowing. Then I went to Ostagar shortly after, so,” Eilwyn shrugged noncomittally. “I’ve not had the chance to come up with anything new since we’ve been on the road, so it’s most likely the last. What does it say?”

Alistair turned the journal to face her and Eilwyn squinted at the page in the dim light.

It was a list of runic glyphs used for different wards, with their histories jotted down in neat bullet points to the side of the page. But at the very bottom was what Alistair seemed to be pointing out. There, in the margins, with Alistair’s thumb directly underneath were a few phrases written and underlined.

“It’s very…” his voice trailed off. “You are long overdue for a wardrobe makeover, it seems.”

The joke fell a bit flat, Eilwyn’s eyes scanning the margin of the page.

“I don’t remember writing these,” she said, her voice no more than a mumble. They were down the center, close to the spine of the journal, and a bit smudged from how she’d closed the book before the ink was totally dry. Even though she didn’t remember, though, it was definitely her handwriting. She must have.

_Can’t sleep lately_ , she had written in her tight, looping script. _Nervous._

_Will they call me soon? If they don’t, is that a sign?_

_Dress colors to choose from:_

  * _blue and purple_


  * _burgundy and purple_


  * _purple and purple_



Scratched out beneath her list was a little curse.

~~_Maker take me, I refuse to die in blasted purple…_ ~~

And then, beneath that only three words were written, underlined three times as if for extra emphasis.

_Make them proud._

Alistair pulled back from her journal wordlessly, and Eilwyn gave a sick laugh.

“I… suppose I had a lot on my mind back then,” she said quietly.

_If only I could go back to when the color of my dress was the biggest of my worries._

“Here. Um, let me see if your gift fits the pages," she muttered, trying to bring them back to a place of peace.

Without another word, she turned to the center where the pages were blank. She placed the rose inside of it, then pressed the pages together gently and tucked the book back into her satchel. As soon as she did so, Alistair opened his arm for her and she once more snuggled against his side.

They sighed simultaneously, overlooking the stream as the magelights around them slowly began to flicker dully in and out of existence.

“Maybe you are a little bit of a gentle flower, Eilwyn,” Alistair said softly, once the last magelight went out.

She sighed sadly, wishing that he hadn't seen that little window into how nervous she'd been for her Harrowing.

“I know,” she muttered, wishing for the second time that night that she hadn’t always made herself so vulnerable. But then she felt Alistair pull her closer to his side, his arm moving to better hold her tight.

“But that doesn't make me any less proud to fight at your side.”

She turned into his embrace, unable to keep away from such a thoughtful thing as that. When she wrapped her arms around his waist in a hug, Alistair responded in kind. As she tightened her arms about his middle, he pressed soft, slow kisses against the part in her hair until she pulled away. In the dark, feeling strangely whole, they both turned to begin walking back to the party camp. With his arm about her shoulders and Alistair’s rose in her satchel, Eilwyn felt something definite click into place.

She would not lose the Eilwyn that Alistair so admired, she vowed in that moment. Strength could come in many forms, and she aimed to live up to that no matter what the Blight, the war, or the world threw at her next. Like the pressed flower in her satchel, she would not crumble from this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH my goodness, did you make it through!? That was... a lot. I tried to pare it down how I could but I really liked their conversation, so I hope you feel the same. I wanted to give some background to the conversation, even though I absolutely love the canon of Alistair just bursting from nowhere with a rose to give the woman he's falling for.
> 
> But about the reactions-- when Alistair hints at the 'steamy bits', I wish there had been an option to just blush quietly until he began to feel awkward. That would've been more Eilwyn. In-game, I chose the 'off with the armor' if you must know bahaha.
> 
> Also, excuse me Eilwyn, but my favorite color happens to be purple ;)


	17. Some Outside Insight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We don't get to hear much from our boy in this one, fair warning!

“You are quite taken with each other, aren’t you?” Wynne asked, prompting Eilwyn to glance up from where they were rolling up their tent canvases.

“I…” she bit her lip, feeling strangely contrite. “Hmm. Are we that obvious?”

Wynne chuckled, a warm noise that negated the tension in Eilwyn’s shoulders. Wynne began to gather the canvas once more, and Eilwyn followed her lead with her own.

“You are not as subtle as you think, child,” Wynne said softly. “Or perhaps you aren’t really going for subtlety in the first place?”

Eilwyn blushed fiercely. She was glad to have something to do with her hands, so that she didn’t stand there like a strawberry-colored fool twiddling her thumbs in the wake of such a comment.

“It’s hard not to notice the doe-eyed looks he gives you,” Wynne said wistfully. “Especially when he thinks no one’s watching. It’s almost too sweet for my taste,” she went on with a sigh. “And I’m an old lady, who should be making lace hearts and fuzzy blankets with animal motifs.”

“You aren’t like any of the other… er,” Eilwyn faltered. “Other senior enchanters I’ve met before.”

“No,” Wynne agreed. “I won’t be making any socks with pompoms for you anytime soon.”

“That’s a good thing,” Eilwyn laughed. “Knowing Alistair, he’d find a way to just steal those too.”

“Indeed.”

By the tone in her voice, Eilwyn got the impression that Wynne felt a point was proven, but it escaped her just how she’d done it.

“Mmm,” Eilwyn twisted her lips to one side, nibbling on the inside of her cheek rather than retorting further.

_If I say anything, it kind of paints me into a corner, doesn’t it?_

_We… we’re not even…_

_What are Alistair and I, actually, come to think of it?_

“I didn’t mean to make you feel like I’m interrogating you,” Wynne said gently, moving over to place a hand on Eilwyn’s forearm. Eilwyn tried to make a noise to show she was relaxed, but she couldn’t. It felt like when she’d been caught slacking off in her studies during her time at the Circle. Wynne’s enchanter seniority, the respect Eilwyn had for her as a mage and a person, overrode any comments she wanted to make in her own defense.

“What were you wanting to say about us?” Eilwyn asked, and she chanced a glance up at her friend right as Wynne gave a tiny sigh.

“Just that…” she paused, hesitating a bit, and then blurted, “I’ve noticed your blossoming relationships, and I wanted to ask you where you thought it was going.”

Eilwyn blinked, unsure of how to reply.

“Alistair is…”

_Very dear to me._

_Exceedingly handsome._

_My most trusted friend._

“I don’t really know. But I hope we can find out together, he and I,” she finished shyly. “What do you… has he said anything to you?”

“Not quite,” Wynne said. “Not so bluntly as all that, anyway."

Eilwyn felt a warmth spread through her chest, a bloom of secretive pride.

_Maybe we're more subtle than you think then._

"Alistair is a fine lad, skilled in battle but quite inexperienced when it comes to affairs of the heart.”

"That would make two of us, then," Eilwyn said with a shy smile. After a beat, she grimaced. "I mean, except for the skilled part. I'm still figuring that out."

"You are more experienced than he, I would say."

"How do you figure?" Eilwyn asked, shaking some crushed leaves free of the canvas as she folded it over her forearm. "I've never had a relationship before."

Wynne paused, letting a beat process between them, and Eilwyn narrowed her eyes.

_She's hinting at something, and I don't get it._

_That's frustrating._

“I would just hate to see Alistair get hurt,” Wynne finished.

“Who- I would never hurt him,” Eilwyn protested.

As if the elder mage could read her signals, could tell Eilwyn had bristled, she gave a sigh and continued.

“Not intentionally, no, I have no doubt,” she admitted. “But there is great potential for tragedy here, for one or both of you.

“Tragedy?” Eilwyn repeated, a morbid laugh on the edge of her voice. "I don't see how-"

“You are both Grey Wardens,” Wynne said firmly, sharp enough to cause Eilwyn to snap her mouth shut politely. “And he is the son of a king. You have responsibilities which supersede your personal desires, be it for affection or tenderness or love-”

“Who said love?” Eilwyn asked, not only anxious now, but intimidated. In a hushed, fierce whisper, she added, “Did Alistair?”

“No, dear,” Wynne shook her head, as if praying for patience. “My point isn’t that you necessarily are in love at this very moment. But should this progress, should you grow closer, there is potential for something that started out as beautiful to cause the both of you a lot of pain.”

She stopped, presumably to allow her meaning to sink in, and Eilwyn felt the canvas slide almost out of her fingers.

_She means if one of us dies._

_And leaves the other to mourn._

“Oh.”

“I’m not saying anything will or won’t happen, child,” Wynne said, her tone conveying a warmth and sadness that Eilwyn knew came from a place of intense compassion. “It could be as simple as Alistair becoming king, and his duty being to Ferelden instead of to his heart.”

“But Alistair doesn’t want to be king,” Eilwyn muttered.

It seemed to be the wrong response. Wynne pursed her lips, as if she felt she should have expected such a petulant reply. Her eyes still contained kindness, but Eilwyn felt more and more as if she were being reprimanded.

“That may be true, but he is still a Grey Warden,” she intoned. “Love- _feelings of affection_ are ultimately selfish. Such feelings demand that one be devoted to a single person who may fully occupy one’s mind and heart, to the exclusion of all else.” She let that sink in for a mere breath, then continued, just as sternly, “A Grey Warden cannot afford to be selfish. You may be forced to make a choice between saving your love, and everyone else. And then what would you do?”

Eilwyn couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t speak. Just last night, she’d felt giddy with hope and optimistic at the possibilities and now…

_I’m being told I did something wrong._

_Again._

“I don’t want to think of that just now, Wynne,” she managed to get out. “Please.”

Wynne inhaled deeply.

“I know, child. But nothing is certain. Not in these times.” She seemed to soften at Eilwyn’s distraught expression, or maybe was merely satisfied that she had said her piece. “Oh, Eilwyn. I’m sorry to have to burden your heart with such a perspective, but I just want to make sure that you and Alistair are both aware of all that something like this implies. You are both Grey Wardens, above all else.”

Eilwyn frowned, the air fleeing her lungs.

_First, I am a mage above all else._

_Now, I am a Grey Warden above all else._

_When am I allowed to merely be Eilwyn?_

“I... am well aware,” she said as she pulled her braid over one shoulder, holding onto the canvas with one hand against her hip. “I appreciate your advice. I know that you mean well, that you don’t want to see me or Alistair hurt.”

“I know it cannot be easy to hear. But if you end things before they begin,” Wynne said gently, “it may stave off more difficult decisions to come later on."

Eilwyn’s heart stopped. She glanced up, feeling suddenly as if she wanted to cry.

"It is merely an option you should allow yourself to consider," Wynne whispered. "So that it does not consume the two of you, or become something for your enemy to take advantage of."

Eilwyn flinched, and a sudden image came unbidden to her mind. Cullen, hands at the sides of his head, rocking back and forth and begging her to stop tormenting him. Tormenting him by existing, torturing him because he wanted her, hurting him because she'd loved him once.

_Oh._

Beyond where the party was finishing cleaning from breakfast, it was a beautiful day. Morrigan was commenting on Leliana’s fletching of her arrows, while Zevran was organizing suspiciously bright-colored vials in his belt. Beyond everyone, her warrior gave a laugh. He was sparring with Sten, warming up as everyone gathered up camp for the day of travel ahead of them.

Alistair and Sten weren’t using full force, but they were absolutely using their real swords. Sten was trying to get Alistair to stop blocking with his shield angled down, because it left his collarbone open and vulnerable when attacking someone taller. Alistair seemed not to be taking it too seriously, laughing when he was thrown back by a particularly solid wallop from the pommel of Sten’s sword.

“I…” Eilwyn started to say something, but couldn’t.

_It hurts._

_It hurts, and at the same time it doesn't._

_What is this feeling?_

Wynne stepped up and began to help her fold up her canvas, but Eilwyn pulled it slowly away from the other mage.

“I don’t know if the way I feel for Alistair is the best decision or not,” Eilwyn said quietly. “You saw what happened in the Circle. My… infatuation with someone, my desires, led me to suffer. Led him... to suffer at my hands. However inadvertent his pain was.”

Wynne sighed deeply, her facial expression conveying a necessary peace. As if she understood, as if this made her point, and as if she was hoping Eilwyn would come to the conclusion she had laid out for her.

“Such is often the way with mages and Templars,” she said quietly, and it cut Eilwyn to the quick.

She let out a little breath that sounded suspiciously like she was close to tears, then tried to right herself as best she could.

“Y-yes, I understand. And Alistair is… my senior. Whether he acts it or not, he Joined before I did, and I owe him respect because of it. I have not forgotten that part of our relationship, or our duties to Ferelden.”

Wynne nodded, seemingly satisfied, but Eilwyn wasn’t done yet.

“Alistair is a good man,” Eilwyn continued, her throat thick with a combination of defensive agitation and bitter regret. “A better man than he even knows, I think. He is brave, and optimistic, and… I know that if I asked him to end things, he would stand by me as a friend. He would remain steadfast in how he’s treated me thus far.”

Wynne nodded again.

“But… the way I feel about him is not so easily summed up in…” Eilwyn sniffled, holding the back of her hand to her nose and blinking rapidly to keep any tears from falling. “It’s not as if I’m merely having fun, or using him for the time being. As if he’s convenient, or as if this can be easily discarded, whatever this is. The way I feel around him isn’t infatuation, it’s a deeper thing than that. I respect him more than that.”

“You said it wasn’t love, merely a moment ago-”

“I admit that I don’t know what love is,” Eilwyn retorted, finally finding her strength. Wynne silenced, and she continued, “I have no idea where the road to friendship forks off and becomes something deeper, something more. I don’t know when it shifted between me and Alistair, if we’re being totally honest, and I don’t care.”

She paused, and she could hear him from afar, his laugh loud and clear through the reds and golds of the fall foliage surrounding them. She closed her eyes, smiling at the sound.

“I feel more myself when I’m with him. If it brings us to some difficult decisions, I’ll weather them gladly, if it means I can stand at his side for a little while longer. I’ll take responsibility for it all, and I want you to know, Wynne,” she opened her eyes and trained her fellow mage with an unflinching look that she hoped conveyed her sincerity. “Know that Alistair is worth it, to me. I will remain faithful both to my duty as a Grey Warden, and to our relationship, both.”

_No matter what happens._

Wynne stayed quiet, long enough to make Eilwyn feel as if she needed to look away. Glancing down at her tent, she started to slowly fold the canvas once more. Wynne stopped her by catching her hand with steady fingers.

“I have given you my advice,” she said quietly. “It is up to you whether or not you take it.”

Eilwyn smiled sadly up at her, and then patted her hand.

“I know, and I will consider what you’ve said,” Eilwyn responded. “But I won’t give up what we have.”

“Even if it hurts you in the long-run?”

“Yes,” Eilwyn said softly, her voice barely a breath. "Even if it hurts."

Wynne pursed her lips, apparently done with the conversation. She folded her tent in silence and then went to rejoin the others, leaving Eilwyn to her thoughts.

* * *

“Why the sad face, little dove?”

Eilwyn glanced over at Zevran where he was cleaning beneath a fingernail with his dagger.

“I’m not sad.”

“Eh… you look a little sad,” he repeated. He seemed utterly unconvinced. "What's on your mind?"

_Oh, nothing, just that a woman I highly respect told me not to fall any deeper in love with the first man who’s ever made me feel so light and happy and warm all at once. On top of that, she hinted that even if we were to fall in love, our duties will probably leave one of us if not both of us devastated in the future._

_Nope! Nothing to be sad about at all!_

Eilwyn shrugged.

“I’m just…” she inhaled deeply, and on the exhale she muttered, “pensive.”

“I much prefer your charming smile to that little frown you wear,” Zevran said with a smirk. “Such big blue eyes should be up, lit with mirth, the sky reflecting in their goregous pools.”

Eilwyn grinned despite herself. The imagery was so ridiculous, so very much _not her_ that she had to laugh. Her elf friend seemed satisfied.

“Yes, there we go. Come, now, tell Zevran what would cheer you. I shall make it my duty to bring it forth for you.”

Eilwyn gave a half-smile, kind of grateful for the distraction.

“Care to tell me about one of your adventures, again?” she asked. “It must be amazing, to live in Antiva.”

“You must visit, once this Blight business is over and done with,” Zevran insisted. “The street market at night is like a carnival for the senses, food like you wouldn’t believe and bright colors illuminating the night well into the morning. You would adore it, I promise you this.”

“It sounds so magical,” she said with a sigh.

“It is not without its own particular brand of danger,” Zevran chuckled richly. “But you are a cunning and beautiful mage. You would do quite well there, especially with those eyes of yours.”

“Flatterer,” Eilwyn said blandly.

“Mmm, maybe so,” Zevran practically purred. “Or maybe I just know Antiva better than you do.”

“Speaking of which,” she hinted, plainly asking to redirect the topic. Zevran winked at her, but did oblige.

“Oh! The lunches we would have, dining at the coast with the sea breeze playing in our hair. And the heat! It would be enough to make even someone like you want to dance every night with your skirts held about your knees, I promise you that.”

Eilwyn blushed at the idea, half in embarrassment but mostly in envy. The weather was still pleasant here on the road to Denerim, with merely the need for a cloak about her shoulders and a scarf around her neck, but Eilwyn missed the sun hitting her skin. She longed for the weather Zevran described his homeland.

They spoke back and forth about small things for a good while, until conversation naturally lulled in its pace. After a few steps of comfortable silence, Eilwyn worked up the nerve to turn to her elven friend once more.

“Can…” Eilwyn glanced behind her, but she and Zevran were far ahead of the rest of the party. Out of earshot. She turned back and lowered her voice just in case. “Can I ask you something?”

“Anything, lady Warden.”

She flinched at the appellation.

“Do you think that… if you have a duty to an organization that is bigger than yourself,” she blushed, glancing up at the sky as if it contained a script for her to read off of as they walked. “Do you think it’s best for people involved in such an organization to… avoid…”

_Falling in love?_

“-developing feelings,” she bit out, “for those also in that organization?”

Zevran walked at her side, silent for a moment as he seemed to ponder what she’d asked in such a roundabout way. After a few footsteps had passed between them, the crunch of the autumn leaves beneath their feet providing a background for their thoughts, he spoke up.

“When you speak of ‘feelings’, you are referring to caring rather deeply for another, no? Not merely the warmth with which your company seems to travel together.”

Eilwyn grit her teeth, then nodded.

“And you are asking me if I think it is a bad idea to care so deeply, because of the risk of it complicating things within your organization, is that correct?”

Eilwyn shrugged, then gave up and nodded, her face very warm.

Zevran, at the very least, seemed to be pretending not to notice.

“I wish that I had an easy response to such a thing,” he said softly. “But I expect that _you_ expected I would not be able to answer clearly.”

Eilwyn felt herself pouting and tried to wipe away her expression before Zevran saw.

"Is it rude if I ask you to give me a moment?" he asked simply.

She felt her mouth bob open for a minute. She hadn't expected that.

"N-no," Eilwyn sighed. "It isn't exactly an easy question to answer. Like you said."

Zevran nodded curtly and then mulled it over a bit longer. As he did, Eilwyn found herself actually appreciating the time he took to formulate an answer. It made her feel like he was taking her seriously. More seriously than Wynne might've been taking her, anyway.

“It is not a decision one should make lightly,” he said finally, “and not a decision anyone can make for you. It does not come without its fair share of difficulties. No matter what organization it is that you speak of, you will most likely find yourself... what is it, between rocks and hard places? You will not have only easy decisions in front of you, my friend, that much is to be sure.”

Eilwyn hung her head, heaving a great sigh.

“I was afraid of that,” she whispered.

“That is not to say I do not encourage this,” Zevran piped up, reaching out to tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear. EIlwyn glanced up, shying away a bit at the touch, and Zevran caught her gaze with his intuitive stare. “Do not revert to such despondency before I have finished my inspirational speech, if you please.”

Eilwyn shot his a sideways glare, playful but still very much heart-heavy at his honesty.

_I was hoping Wynne was wrong._

He watched her, their eyes level with one another, and Eilwyn felt as if he very much knew how to read her. As if he could read her skepticism, and was mollified by it. Funny, wasn’t it? They’d not met but a few days ago, had only a short amount of time to get to know one another, and yet here she was asking for his advice on something she knew next to nothing about.

_Zevran seems to know._

_He probably knows more than I ever want to know, come to think of it._

_Oh Maker, I don't want a lecture on whatever he said over dinner the other night._

_What was it... the Milk Sandwich?_

Eilwyn shuddered.

“Such dalliances, if you will forgive me labeling them as such,” Zevran murmured, drawing Eilwyn’s attention back to the topic at hand, “are worth it."

Eilwyn blinked, a bit taken aback by his candor, and Zevran continued.

"Such things can be some of the most exciting, telling, and rewarding relationships one can have the pleasure of indulging in. In my humble opinion,” he tacked on at the end.

“W-why?” she stammered, hope blooming once more in her chest. "You said there was a large risk it wouldn't be easy."

He made a noise as if he was searching for the words to say it in Common.

“Because when two people know the risk of such an arrangement, and choose to go all in anyway,” Zevran said, his voice soft and reverent. “It is a different bond, you see. A deeper trust. An admission that things can go wrong, and you will not only persevere, but you will laugh in such things’ faces. Such an admission is... quite powerful.”

Eilwyn felt her steps slowing, and without thinking she reached out and drew Zevran into a quick hug. At first, he didn't seem to know what to do, but she heard a noise at their feet. He had dropped his dagger.

_On purpose?_

_To make sure I know he's not going to try to kill me, still?_

The thought made Eilwyn squeeze him all the harder, and Zevran let out an exaggerated grunt at her tightening embrace.

“Oh, what did I do to deserve such violent sweetness?” he groaned, but then when Eilwyn did not let go, Zevran actually hugged her back.

"Just..." Eilwyn sighed. "Just thank you, okay?"

“I should not question it,” he murmured, and Eilwyn could tell that less of him was teasing this time. When they both pulled away, they remained close, and she felt rather at ease.

_Ugh, I’m still confused._

_But maybe less so._

“You know,” Zevran said thoughtfully as he picked up his dagger from where it lay in the dirt path. “One of my top three favorite Eilwyn attributes is her compassion.”

“I’ll be sure to tell her that,” Eilwyn said sardonically.

“It is true,” he insisted. They began to walk together once more. “And let me tell you why. The root of this word, compassion, is _passion_. It means feeling, yes? Feeling for others, with others, towards others, all of the feelings. And that is a skill that can very rarely be taught, you see. It is innate, and it draws people to you as one might draw moths to flames, so to speak.”

Eilwyn glanced over, disbelief clearly written on her face.

“Oh, when you look at me with eyes like that, little dove,” Zevran warned, and his tone made Eilwyn laugh out loud.

"Nobody has ever described me as passionate before," she said, her voice low and almost mocking. "I don't know whether I should thank you or ask if you're teasing me."

His smile gentled, and he gave a great sigh.

“All joking aside, lady Warden, I think that pursuing a relationships with someone in the best of times is a daunting task. Doing so while in the middle of a civil war, with this Loghain writing contracts on your head, with an Archdemon in your dreams-” he shuddered, making a big show of disdain on his face.

Eilwyn smiled despite herself.

“I really like him, Zevran,” she whispered. “Is that not… bad of me to do?”

Zevran pressed his lips together in a tight line, then shook his head. He seemed to know who she spoke of, seemed to have known this entire time. She couldn't read his expression, but it was gentle. Tender, almost.

“No, little one,” he said finally. “It is not bad.”

Eilwyn sighed, a sense of relief crashing over her where Wynne’s advice had left her feeling parched and raw. Zevran brought his hand up to her spine, rubbing a comforting caress into her skin, but Eilwyn put some distance between them before it could get too intimate.

“Oh, I apologize,” he laughed. “Have I crossed a line?”

She shook her head, smiling over at him as she crossed her arms under her cloak.

“No, you’ve actually been a great help,” Eilwyn said. “Thank you, Zev.”

“For a Warden as beautiful as you,” Zevran riposted with a wink, “just tell me how I can be of service.”

But even as he flirted, he did not reach up to touch her again once she’d said she’d had enough. That was one thing she respected about the elf, especially. He was free with his compliments, with his sarcasm and laughter and his touches... and yet he was never one to press her boundaries once she set them.

“For now, just keep an eye out for the fork towards Denerim,” Eilwyn said, shoving him playfully on his shoulder. With the subject behind them, they carried on ahead of the rest of the pack with autumn reds and golds falling about them like lazy, burning embers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***Meta time***  
> Eilwyn flirted with Zevran way too much, and that's my canon haha. I thought those options- okay hear me out, please- I thought those options were just the "nice" ones (ﾍﾟ◇ﾟ)」oh ho ho...
> 
> When it led to certain difficult conversations, I think it added such a beautiful, shocking element to the game. Naive cookie Eilwyn had to deal with some jealous feels between two handsome men, deary me (〃￣ω￣〃)ゞ 
> 
> Also, I thought that after everything Wynne saw in the Circle quest, it was kind of callous for her to comment on Amell's blossoming relationship with Alistair, even tho she meant well. I mean, I headcanon that my Amell loved Cullen, I suppose it doesn't hurt as badly if she doesn't. But this seemed like... almost cruel.


	18. Frogs And Salamanders

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers: vaguely explicit content ahoy, friendos!
> 
> Also loool/edits:  
> I posted this so late at night that I didn't even title it. Fixing now!

Eilwyn woke up slowly, sighing onto her side underneath of her layers of blankets, her hands coming up to brush her braid away from where it had fallen across her face in the middle of the night.

“There were not,” a voice said, very convinced. Even though the tone was hushed, stubborn certainty was written in the whisper. She heard a scoff that she recognized; Alistair was up.

“Yes,” that one was Leliana, Eilwyn could tell from the slight lilt. “There very much were.”

“Pfeh. You’re just being mean, now.” Alistair sounded like he was trying to continue whispering and was failing. His voice had carried only a touch, but it was enough to make her want to wake up more fully. With a stretch, Eilwyn opened her eyes.

How long had she gotten to sleep? She’d had first watch, so it must have been most of the night. She could tell it was still very dark outside, but it had the telltale chill of dawn, the darkest part of the night before the sun came back to warm the world. She rubbed both palms over her eyelids, sighing out a puff of air that she could see disperse before her.

Outside, she heard the fire popping as if another log had been thrown on, and the pleasant yawn of her mabari. So he must have snuck out during the night at some point. Most likely to find Alistair.

_It’s so cold without him here._

Eilwyn sat up and pulled a blanket around her shoulders. She definitely couldn’t sleep anymore, not with the crispness of the air around her drawing her further into stark consciousness. Swiping a bit of dried drool from the side of her cheek, she crawled out of her tent in time to hear Leliana whisper more.

“In the dead of night, they sniff you out, gathering bouquets of your pheromones to map out all of your fears,” the former Sister intoned, her facial expression lit from below by the waning fire. “It’s how they track so easily, better than their bestial counterparts, better than their human forms. It’s how they most enjoy the hunt, when they can smell your terror on the breeze.”

Leliana gave a tiny eye twitch, a signal that she could see Eilwyn sneak out of her tent, but otherwise she gave nothing away. Alistair was facing Leliana, his arms crossed as he hunched low into himself and stared down at the crackling fire. His back wa to Eilwyn, and as she let her tent flap close, he did not turn. He couldn't hear her.

“There are no such thing as werewolves,” he said, his voice low and slightly less convinced than it had been only a moment ago.

“Funny,” Leliana whispered. “That’s exactly what a little boy in Lothering said, back when I was a Sister.”

“You’re lying.”

“I can recall it clear as day. The smell of the roses lingering in the air, the feel of dewy humidity on the back of my neck. I was out, watering flowers by the Chantry. And there was this little boy. Sweet, small, just a regular little boy.” She paused, lowering her voice and adding a sad note. “But something was wrong. He seemed to be frightened. He looked at me with his big, brown eyes, his hair mussed from a day of playing in the sun-”

Leliana shot a quick, subtle glance at Eilwyn over Alistair’s shoulder, and then pretended to stretch her head in the warrior’s direction. She continued to elaborate on her imagery, just as a sly smirk spread across Eilwyn’s lips.

_Ooh what a good idea._

“-and when I looked back, he had strayed so far. I craned my neck up from the rosebush, trying to see him more clearly, but from the distance he’d put between us I could barely make out his little form,” Leliana adopted a sad expression, leaning forward as she continued to weave her story.

Alistair leaned forward as well, either out of empathy or so that he could hear her better. Eilwyn crept forward, picking up her blanket folds to make sure it did not drag upon the grass and give her away.

“Where was he?” Alistair asked. His tone of voice was nervous, barely a breath.

“He was on the edge of the forest-”

“No,” he breathed.

“Yes,” Leliana rejoined immediately, looking up in distress. Her tone began to pick up its pace, and Eilwyn snuck forward more and more. “He stared at me, his pale white skin made even more ghostlike against the backdrop of the gray mist covering the trees. I heard them. Soft at first, a ghost of a memory, a predator on the edge of my dreams. I thought to myself they were mere wolves, but then I saw the eyes.”

“The eyes?”

Alistair squeezed his arms harder about his own shoulders, shrinking himself down. The metal of his gauntlets clicked dully against his greaves, and it was impressive how small the man could make himself when wearing such a large set of plates. The faint insecurity in his voice made McWhistle lift his head from where he was laying next to the fire, but when the mabari saw there was no danger he flopped back down.

Eilwyn narrowed her eyes at the dog, a bit put out he preferred the fire to her but grateful that he hadn’t blown her cover. She glanced back to Leliana, and she waited.

“The eyes,” Leliana repeated, drawing out the syllables as she did so, and she gave Eilwyn a quick nod that Alistair seemed unaware of. “Behind him, they denoted a figure so tall, taller than me, standing behind his shoulder. Their pointed orbs were red, rimmed with a glowing ethereal yellow, filled with so much bloodlust and oozing such predatory instinct that I could barely breathe, could barely call out his name once, but it was already too late and the talons had stretched over his shoulders and-”

“Boo!” Eilwyn pounced, hurling herself at Alistair’s shoulders.

In an instant, she found herself looking up at the starry sky with all of the wind knocked from her chest, a dull throb of pain running through her shoulders where they’d connected with the dirt. For a split second, she couldn't breathe.

Alistair’s shout of surprise had sent a flock of birds from the nearby trees startling up into the air about the camp, and he was holding onto both of her shoulders with his face very near to hers, his eyes wide with fear and confusion. She laughed past the pain, grunting with the effort of rolling up from where she’d connected with the ground in front of Alistair’s feet. His hand was still heavy on her shoulders, however, and she couldn't sit up for how hard she was laughing.

“Eilwyn!” he gasped.

Leliana was in stitches, collapsed onto the packed dirt around the campfire as McWhistle sniffed her and yipped in concern, and Eilwyn couldn’t breathe for how hard she was laughing as well. She felt Alistair fumbling to pick her up, and she righted herself with help from his trembling hands.

Unable to keep herself upright, she collapsed onto his lap.

“Did I scare you?” she gasped, giggling.

“Maker’s breath!” he cursed as he tried to pull her to a seated position. “Don’t do that!”

“Did I-” Eilwyn couldn’t get words past her laughter anymore. She sank against Alistair’s neck, throwing her arms about his shoulders. She felt him pick her up and set her on the log beside him, before trying to disentangle himself from her limbs.

“It's not funny! I could have hurt you,” he protested, setting her hands onto her own lap.

He was blushing harder than she’d seen him blush in a long time, his cheeks bright red, and he looked petulant. Eilwyn decided she rather liked how he looked with his brow furrowed like that. She saw it so rarely, and she could tell he wasn’t deeply upset. His lips were too taut, twitching from the effort of holding back a smile. She could tell.

_C’mon. That was funny._

She reached out, dragging a thumb across his cheek to pinch it.

“I got you,” she teased as he swatted her hand away with a helpless grin.

"You got me, but I got you back," he protested, tossing her a look that said he wished he hadn't.

Leliana, finally regaining some of her own composure, sat up with a happy sigh.

“You did so well. We will make a sneak of you, yet.”

“You can’t just leave me out here after that,” Alistair whined in a fierce whisper, and he reached for Leliana’s leather skirt as she walked by. She slapped his hand away with a laugh as Eilwyn covered up a grin with both hands. McWhistle gave a _harumph_ and settled back down by the fire to nap, away from the disruptive trio.

“Oh yes I can,” the bard teased. “I leave you to the dubious mercy of our leader, here.”

“What if she jumps me again, Leliana? Leliana! Come back here!”

But she had already moved to her tent far on the other side of camp, away from the fire. Eilwyn heard her shifting down into her bedding, could hear the other companions who had stirred because of Alistair’s outburst settle back in as well.

Eilwyn leaned onto Alistair’s shoulder, feeling like she could fall back into giggling again. Maker, how shocked he’d looked when he realized he’d flipped her. He’d caught her halfway so that he didn’t slam her too hard into the ground, but it had still rocked her. She breathed in deeply and coughed to try to loosen the ache from it in her back.

“You’re not very nice,” Alistair accused, nudging her with his elbow.

Eilwyn snickered, then coughed again, harder this time.

“You alright?”

“Mmm,” she grinned out at the fire. “I deserved that.”

“Did I hurt you?”

“A little,” Eilwyn admitted, still too amused by the fact that Alistair was so jumpy to really mind.

“Maker’s breath, I’m so sorry,” he groaned, hanging his head between his knees in shame.

“No, no,” Eilwyn laughed. “I thought it was cute how hard you flinched.”

“Cute?” Alistair whined. “Not exactly what I want to hear after I’ve accidentally grappled m-my friend.”

The hesitation on what to call her caught her attention. Maybe it was just an accidental stutter, a misfire in the wake of Alistair’s nerves. But she couldn't help but notice how he'd hesitated on what he called her.

_Andraste’s arse, I hope Wynne hasn’t spoken to him._

He sighed, righting himself so that his elbows rested on his knees.

“Rather hear more scary stories than be called _cute_.”

“I can oblige that, my pretty,” Eilwyn said, trying to make her voice as spooky as possible even as she kept it a whisper.

Alistair looked over with such unwillingness that she couldn’t help it. She broke into a smile immediately and gave away that she was just teasing. Alistair’s mouth twisted into a pout as he heaved a great, dramatic sigh.

“Mean,” he said firmly. “Very mean.”

“I’m sorry,” Eilwyn said, her voice growing more tender. She leaned onto his back, then reached across the log to pick up her blanket from where it had fallen. Stubbornly, hoping he wouldn’t push her away, she draped it across both of their shoulders.

Alistair shot her a sideways glance, but did not shrug the blanket off.

“Did we wake you with our conversation?” he asked.

She shook her head.

“I was already awake. I slept all I needed to, apparently.”

“You don’t have watch again tonight, though,” Alistair insisted quietly. “You could relax, instead of sitting out here with me.”

She nuzzled against his silverite, smiling to herself.

“Do you think the two are mutually exclusive?” she asked, still feeling coy.

Immediately, he turned underneath of the blanket and put a hand onto her knee. It was a quick touch, one he instantly retracted, but Eilwyn felt it nonetheless. It sent a pleasant, warm shiver down her spine. Her lungs felt lighter, and she wondered why he’d taken his hand away.

_It feels nice there._

“No,” Alistair said, clearing his throat. “I mean, of course you’re welcome here. It just might be boring, was my only point. So you can feel free to read your book if you like, and I won’t disturb you.”

Eilwyn beamed at him in the firelight.

“Being with you isn’t boring to me,” she said sweetly, and Alistair gave a weak laugh. As if he hadn’t expected her to say something like that out loud, but that he was glad she did.

He moved back, sitting up so that she could tuck herself into his side beneath the blanket. They shuffled closer together. It was hard to get comfortable for a minute, but she finally did so with a sigh. His pauldron made it a bit awkward, but she did her best to ignore it. After all, it couldn’t really be helped.

_I wish I had taken advantage at The Spoiled Princess._

_I wish I had hugged him while I could, without armor separating us._

Eilwyn blushed at the thought, hunching her shoulders down and tucking her face to the blanket in the hopes that Alistair wouldn’t see. In an effort to distract them both, she cleared her throat.

“Want to hear a happy story?” she asked. “One that doesn’t involve creatures of the night?”

“Oh, yes please,” Alistair exhaled in what sounded like relief.

“Okay,” Eilwyn scooted closer, their thighs touching now. “Um.”

_Hmm._

“Are you telling me,” Alistair snickered, keeping his voice low, “that you suggested telling a story when you don’t immediately have one in mind?”

“Shush,” Eilwyn murmured as she nudged him and tried not to let her cheeks burn. “I have one.”

“Really.”

“Yes,” she insisted. “Once upon a time, there was ah…"

_Maker take me, what was there?_

"There was a little frog.”

Alistair got more comfortable, sliding down to sit on the dirt so that the log would rest at the small of his back. Eilwyn was caught, pulled down with him to the ground underneath of his heavy arm, but she didn’t mind.

As she settled, she realized that this seating arrangment made snuggling much more comfortable. Alistair’s arm covered her shoulders and drew her nearer, and Eilwyn could feel the warm lick of the air about the fire like a secondary embrace. The log at their back further protected them from the slight chill in the air, and the smoke was blowing lazily awy from where they were sitting. The both of them let out a contented, mutual sigh, and Eilwyn felt comfortable enough to keep making up a nice story for her friend.

“So about the little frog,” she stalled, wracking her mind for what to say.

“Yes, tell me more,” Alistair chimed in. “What was she like?”

“She was, um... new to the forest,” Eilwyn said. “There were many strange sights to see, strange foods to eat, and so much freedom that she was not used to. If we’re being honest, she was a bit overwhelmed, but she found a stream to live by and it soothed her.”

She thought she hear Alistair give a surprise _hmm_.

“Where did she come from?” he asked.

“She came from a lake, not far from the forest.”

“I see. Could this frog do magic and fight darkspawn, by any chance?” Alistair murmured, turning to shift his arm about her shoulder. He brought up one hand to rest on her hair, playing with her tresses as she spoke. “Was her favorite color a deep, wine red?”

Eilwyn smiled.

“No, that would be silly,” Eilwyn said primly. “Now behave and listen.”

He chuckled lightly, and she felt him turn to kiss the part in her hair.

Closing her eyes, she tried to will her heart to beat slower, tried to suppress the amazing, glimmering flutter of nerves that seemed to overwhelm her whenever Alistair was this close. It was incredibly difficult not to lose her place, for her mind not to be saturated with the image of what it might be like to-

“The little frog made many new friends,” Eilwyn said, forcing herself to talk instead of think. “She laughed and swam all day, jumping and splashing, doing froggy things until nightfall. When the moon rose high above the stream, she would sing with her friends all night long, until the summer dawn would coax her to sleep with its gentle, orange caress.”

She felt Alistair sigh softly, his lips still resting against her hair. She nuzzled against him, inhaling his warmth.

“One day, the little frog met a little salamander.”

“Did she, now?” he asked, and he sounded as if he was close to falling asleep.

“She did,” Eilwyn answered, trying to suppress the way his voice made her want to beam. “He was supposed to help her get used to the forest, but he seemed a bit new to it himself, if we’re being totally honest.”

She felt his hand still at that.

_Ah. I thought you might like that._

“When they first met,” Eilwyn continued, “he taught her this silly game to make her feel more comfortable in the stream.”

“Sounds like a good little lizard.”

“Salamander,” she corrected, and she lightly tapped a hand against his chest. "Don't fall asleep on me."

“Who's sleepy?” he asked, shifting. “That's right, sorry. I'll listen more studiously, miss.”

“One day, not long after meeting the salamander, the frog was swimming out in the stream when a, um..." she cleared her throat. "A bird tried to swallow her whole. She was so frightened, terrified beyond belief really- but this little salamander saved her. He jumped onto the bird’s tail, scaring it so badly that it flew off never to be seen again. It left both the frog and the salamander alone in the stream, and they were immediate friends.”

“Was he a warrior salamander?” Alistair asked, sounding intensely amused.

"Oh, heavens, no,” Eilwyn said quietly. “In fact, I think he was raised by dogs.”

Alistair made a little noise, like a suppressed laugh, and she took it as a signal to continue.

“The little salamander was very kind, and very charming, and he showed the little frog how to be brave like him. When the little frog went swimming, he would swim alongside her, though not as gracefully. She always felt safe with him nearby.”

“It sounds like the frog was really impressed with this salamander, eh?”

Eilwyn suppressed a nervous giggle.

“Maybe. I wouldn’t know. This is just a story, after all.”

“I see. Well then, what did her froggy friends think of him?” Alistair asked. “Were they jealous of him? Did they want him to be their leader? Was there a mean froggy who made fun of him all the time and called him stupid?”

“I’m getting there,” Eilwyn answered, trying her best not to laugh.

She felt Alistair’s hand start to move at her temple again, brushing her hair back in methodical strokes as she spoke. It was such a soothing gesture, she almost felt like yawning. Instead, she carried on.

“At night, when she and her froggy friends sang to the moon, the salamander would watch her and applaud their song. In the morning, he would be by the little frog’s side, eagerly awaiting another day of playing in the summer sun with her.”

She paused, nuzzling deeper in to the blanket as a wind carried a chill past them and made the fire flicker.

“One day, the little frog’s friends pulled her aside. ‘You can’t be serious’ they said. ‘He is a salamander’ they said. ‘Salamanders are not frogs’ they said. The little frog was confused, she told them that she knew that. That she liked how different he was. But some of the other froggies rolled their eyes, and said that it would end badly.”

Eilwyn opened her eyes, and beneath the blanket she fumbled for Alistair’s hand on his lap with both of hers. After a split second of adjustment, their fingers interlocked and their breathing caught in their chests.

They sat there in the night, letting her story sink in, and Eilwyn wondered if she was the only one to feel a warm, tingling sensation all over her body where it connected with Alistair’s. Their thighs, their sides, their shoulders, now their hands. The press of his cheek against her hair, the feel of his fingers against her temple. She felt as if she was overheating, too dizzy, and yet somehow not nearly close enough to him yet.

She cleared her throat, and tried to remember where she’d left off.

_So close. He’s so close, and he smells amazing._

_I want…_

Eilwyn cleared her throat and tried to focus.

“Where was I?” she asked, her throat husky with ill-concealed desire.

“It would end badly,” Alistair whispered.

“Ah yes. I mean, so said the froggy friends,” she said. But then she smiled. “Not all of them either, mind you. There were some who were very kind about it. And besides, the little frog knew better. In her heart of hearts, she knew the salamander was good, and incredibly handsome,” Alistair gave a scoff of a laugh at that, “and… and that he would stay by her side despite how strange it was. How strange they might be together.”

Eilwyn’s voice grew softer, her heart clenching in her chest.

_This won’t be easy._

_But I want…_

“I’m sure the salamander felt the same,” Alistair whispered.

“Ah, well, he seemed to,” she whispered. “It was hard for the frog to tell, though."

"Be... because of something he did?" Alistair asked.

"No!" Eilwyn whispered fiercely. She gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. "The frog was growing quite fond of him, but she couldn’t… she didn’t know how to go about it the right way. She was clumsy and embarrassed so very often, and she was worried she would...” 

_Mess it all up._

“If it makes her feel any better,” he added, “the salamander hadn’t caught onto that. The frog always seemed very graceful and intimidating to him. Braver than he'd ever expected.”

“Did she now?” Eilwyn asked, shifting happily at his side.

Alistair chuckled.

“He still worried about her ability to defend against birds, though. The memory of her being caught by one was still a frightening thing, even though he trusts- trusted her to be able to defend herself.”

“Oh.”

They were quiet for a moment, watching the crackle of the fire. When Eilwyn didn’t immediately continue her story, Alistair gently extricated his hand from hers. He leaned up and tossed another log onto the embers, and she thought she caught him sigh before the fire flared.

For a moment, the fire sent bright speckles of orange and red up into the sky, as if it were trying to add to the stars laying in the blue velvety darkness above.

When Alistair settled down against her once more, when he replaced his arm about her shoulders and his palm against her hair, Eilwyn sighed and nuzzled as close as she could. She found his hand once more, desperate to keep a connection, thrilled when his fingers threaded through hers with just as much eagerness.

“Shall I keep going?” she whispered.

“Yes,” he blurted, seemingly surprised she would even ask. “I’m ah, I’m very invested in the little frog’s life now,” he joked, his voice betraying a hint of nerves that she found incredibly endearing.

“Well, you should be,” she teased. “I’m weaving a rich fantasy here.”

“That you are,” Alistair murmured, his voice a suggestive purr.

Eilwyn swallowed hard, a thrill of unspeakable pleasure coursing warmly through her veins. She was blushing, she knew, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. The fact that Alistair had caught her meaning, that he’d clued in so quickly and so eagerly to play along with her, made her simultaneously nervous and excited. She didn’t know if he’d meant for his voice to sound as rich, as sensual as it had, but she didn’t care.

_Say something else._

_Please._

Alistair exhaled shakily, then cleared his throat.

“How, um… how does the story end?”

She grazed her thumb across the back of his hand, hoping that he could feel it through his gauntlet.

“Well, the frog and the salamander became better and better friends over time,” she whispered, the fire popping as the log caught flame. “He never judged her. She looked up to him. And so they…”

Eilwyn turned, and found herself nestled against the exposed skin of Alistair’s neck. Her breath bouncing off of his pulsepoint, she whispered the ending she herself hoped for.

“They began to care for one another quite deeply.”

Eilwyn felt a shiver of apprehension at being so close to such a vulnerable part of his body. It was one of the only places he was exposed, wearing his armor how he was. Being so close, now, she felt a thrill of guilt course through her.

They hadn’t yet kissed, and here she was teasing him, nuzzling him, fantasizing about what it might be like to do more with him. It was bold, way too bold, and she knew she should stop. Every logical thought pushed to the back of her mind was telling her to stop.

_Is it possible that it makes it sweeter, somehow?_

_To know how unchaste this is?_

_And to want to do it anyway?_

Eilwyn blinked, coming back to herself as she realized that this sort of playing was out of her field of reference. She’d never been this close to someone before, and sure, she was testing her limits. But she didn’t want to be invested in this alone.

_Does he want this as much as I do?_

If Alistair was uncomfortable, would he tell her so? Would he stop her, pull them back to where they needed to be? She couldn’t rely solely on that, she knew. It would be so unfair to him, to tease until she forced him to stop them both.

Her thoughts were interrupted. Alistair’s fingers, the ones massaging gentle lines over her scalp, pressed her head ever so slightly closer to the crook of his neck. He craned his head back and away from her, just a touch, just enough of an exposure that Eilwyn couldn’t pretend to ignore it, even if she wanted to. She heard him exhale a half-breath, so quiet, so eager, and it struck her in the center of her core.

_He wants my lips here._

“And then?” he asked, his voice weak, his other hand holding hers tight in his lap, their fingers threaded through one another’s. Eilwyn smiled against his skin, and she felt his breathing immediately hitch.

“And then they lived happily ever after,” she whispered.

She was so close that she could smell his pheromones on the soft skin just beneath his ear-

_Lewd._

-she could almost taste the salt of his sweat as her lips grazed against his pulse-

_Lustful._

-and she could hear Alistair give a shaky, withheld little gasp at the feel of her open mouth-

_Lascivious._

-all while she remained fully and painfully aware that this was not _at all_ what a lady should do. Ever. To anyone.

But then… why did she want this so badly?

Eilwyn could think of nothing other than the desire to lean up and kiss Alistar’s lips. A true kiss, not a thank-you or a playful gesture, but a real, deep, passionate thing. To show him what he meant to her, how much she cared for him. The time had been less than ideal before, but it had been days since their last opportunity to have such a chat. Since he'd pulled her aside and given her his rose, in fact.

_It will only take one more day to get to Denerim, too. If that._

They would be so busy once they came upon the city, would not be able to afford such distractions. Was this a good moment, she wondered? Before they reached the city, before anything else could happen to them?

The air between them had changed from innocent playing to something hotter, something darker, and she wanted to claw at that sensation until it washed over her entire being.

_How do people act on such a feeling? Do they just sense that the other wants affection?_

Distraught, happily incensed with the sweet torture, Eilwyn let out a little breath of a sigh and felt her warrior shiver at her side. Before she could apologize, or ask if he was cold, she felt his arm tighten about her shoulders almost imperceptibly.

“Does this… does this story end with a kiss, then?” Alistair asked her, his voice tremulous and rough. “A proper, romantic happy ending?

Eilwyn’s breathing quickened, her heart racing.

_He wants me too._

“Yes,” she whispered against his skin, moving her lips more bravely against his neck, her words no more than a murmur. Brave, emboldened by the desire she heard in Alistair's voice, Eilwyn brushed her mouth across the line of Alistair’s pulse in an easy kiss.

A twitch.

Her hand did it unconsciously as she moved to raise herself up against his chest, as she tried to right herself in order to try to initiate what would be her very first kiss with the man she was falling for. She was determined to do it right, to press herself against his chest just like she'd read all the romance novel heroines did. But as she shifted, their intertwined palms brushed upwards along Alistair’s thigh, up his lap, and for a moment Eilwyn didn’t know what she was feeling.

_Wait…_

_Is he…?_

Alistair broke free of her embrace, pushing her hand away from himself before she had time to finish her thought. He gently and quickly pulled away from where he’d been holding her to his neck, dropping the blanket from his shoulders in the process of releasing her. He cleared his throat as if he was embarrassed, then moved to kneel by the fire before Eilwyn could even utter a single word to ask if he was alright.

“It’s, ah, that was a beautiful ending to the story,” he said thickly, his voice devoid of the dark hunger that he’d embodied before. “Happy. Just like you said.”

He cleared his throat a second time, then gave a frustrated little noise that Eilwyn was positive he hadn’t meant to let loose. Grabbing up a stick from the edge of the fire pit, he began to prod at the embers with halfhearted little stabs.

_What… in the Maker’s name… just happened._

“A-are you okay?” she asked, and the sudden worry that she’d been too much, been too indecent, washed over her like an ice bath.

“I’m fine,” Alistair laughed.

She didn’t believe him. Quirking an eyebrow, Eilwyn waited for a few minutes while Alistair composed himself. Once their breathing slowed, once he seemed to regain himself, he staggered to his feet. He was still avoiding her gaze, looking off beyond the tents towards the forest behind them as he shifted his weight from hip to hip. His expression was forced, his eyes bright even in the dark of the early morning stars above them. He inhaled deeply, then let out a short, quivering breath.

“I just… need to… dunk my head in something cold, I think. Yeah. Should be fine, after that.”

“Is it because the fire's too warm?” Eilwyn asked, tilting her head to the side, still sitting in a crumpled, aroused heap on the dirt by the log. She didn't know why, but she felt like she needed to fix this, to try to regain the momentum they'd just had only a moment before. “We could sit further back, if you like,” she suggested, but her voice escaped her a bit more pitifully than she'd have liked it to.

She couldn't help it. Looking up at him like that, how tall he was, how imposing he was in his armor combined with the look of lost frustration on his face… it was enough to spur her pulse to quickening once more. Alistair looked down at her, and she tilted her chin up without thinking.

_I thought we were both hoping for that ending._

It had seemed a sure thing. Alistair himself had hinted at it, she would never have dared to mention a kiss if he hadn’t, and now Eilwyn was consumed with the yearning for it. She wanted it so desperately she didn’t know what to do with herself besides sit there and look up at him through her lashes. She didn’t know how to ask him, or even if she _should_ ask him. The whole experience was new to her, unexplored territory, and she was left going over that final moment where he had yanked away as if she had made some sort of fatal mistake that she needed to apologize for.

_Was that... did he move because he was uncomfortable with me?_

“I… mmm,” he turned, pacing for a moment, his hand up by his face, and Eilwyn got shakily to her feet.

“Did I do something wrong?” she asked, her voice so little and so pitiful that she immediately wished she could take it back. She reached out and touched a hand to his elbow, hoping to reassure him. “If this- um, if sitting that close was inappropriate, just tell me,” she stuttered. “Alistair-”

He looked up as if he’d been struck. In an instant, he was holding her back, taking her hand in his and pressing it to his cheek as she struggled to remember what she was going to say.

_Maker, his skin is so warm._

_He’s blushing so badly._

_Be… because of me?_

“No, Maker, no,” Alistair stammered, once again inherently extending her secret thoughts as if he was a mind-reader. “Nothing like that. You were absolutely not in the wrong, it’s just…” He shook his head, then turned to press a firm kiss to her palm. “Sorry. Ignore me. I loved the story, and I truly did love the ending. Didn't mean to worry you.”

Eilwyn frowned, not sure she believed him. For a gut-wrenching minute, she felt like what she’d done was something off limits.

_I don’t know what the boundaries are, here._

_We… shouldn’t kiss necks, but hands and cheeks and hair is okay?_

_Andraste preserve me, I want…_

"You jumped up like I'd burned you," she muttered, still a bit put out about it.

“I was just too warm under the blankets, I guess,” Alistair said, and he gave a half-hearted laugh against her fingers.

_You’re still too warm._

She glanced him over, still absurdly excited. Her nerves were primed, it felt like, ready and on edge, seeking out something she didn’t know how to ask for. Did she want him close? Did she want to keep testing what was too far, or what wasn’t far enough? Did she want to give him space so that his skin could cool, so that he could feel less nervous in her presence?

“I’m sorry for… that,” he said kindly. “We can sit back down? Further away, like you said.”

Eilwyn shook her head.

_He looks so nervous._

_I don't want to make things awkward._

_Well... more awkward._

“It’s okay,” she said, and then stood on her tiptoes to wrap her arms around his neck. Alistair bent down and she pressed a very chaste, closed-mouth kiss to his temple. “I might go back to bed for a bit. You seem less worried about werewolves than before, after all.”

Alistair gave a sigh, laughter on the wake of it.

“That’s certainly not what’s on my mind right now, no.”

Eilwyn grinned, hoping that her eyes hid her own feelings on the matter.

_Nor mine._

With that, they said their goodnights, or rather their ‘early mornings’ since the world was turning a steady gray with the approaching dawn. Eilwyn slipped back into her tent, trailing her blanket behind her, and she heard Alistair mutter something unclear to himself as she did.

When she settled into her bedroll, she let out an elongated, tremulous exhale.

_Did that… actually just happen?_

Her skin was aflame and sensitive, her body aching with a need she didn’t quite know how to satisfy. She lay there, staring at the dark ceiling of her tent, feeling the slick between her thighs with every shift of her legs, and she silently begged for some sort of merciful distraction.

In the Circle, it was rare that she ever had a moment to herself. Sometimes, late at night, she would squeeze a pillow between her legs and grind slowly against it until she found her release. But that had been so rare, only when she was pushed to her absolute breaking point and overwhelmed with the need to force her mind to quit its own frantic pacing, that it seemed a foreign act to her now.

Now, in her tent within earshot of the man who she had yet to even kiss properly, Eilwyn thought of the times she’d done... _that_. She relived them with a burning alacrity, her mind suggesting she indulge in it even as she balked at the prospect. Eilwyn knew that she didn’t have the courage to do anything of the sort. Even the mere thought of mustering up the bravery to move her thighs back and forth to enjoy the sensation made her blush.

_What if Alistair overhears me?_

It sent waves of anxiety and humiliation washing over her. Little did that do to lessen her heightened state of arousal, however. It seemed almost to encourage the feelings. She ran over the kiss again and again in her mind, embarrassed and proud and shy all at once.

The thought that she wasn’t alone in her desires was what held her bound in a purgatory-like state of excitement. When her palm had slid up Alistair’s thigh, she’d felt him. The back of her hand had brushed against something that was undeniably not a part of his armor.

He’d been so hard from the mere brush of her lips on his neck that even with the least sensitive part of her hand, she had felt the firm outline of him through his breeches.

It hadn't been the fire, like he'd told her. He must have pulled away from her because of the indecency of it, because it was inappropriate, and Eilwyn knew she should feel the same way. She should be relieved that he was such a gentleman, and should push the memory out of her mind with a resolute chastity.

But she didn’t.

In fact, she’d wanted to keep her hand there, to feel what she’d only read about in books. It had taken her a few minutes to even recognize what it had been; but when she did realize what she'd brushed against, it had made her feel so incredibly powerful. Her mind was overwhelmed with questions in regards to it, some objective and some purely selfish.

Did it hurt, for a man to be… like that? Did it go away quickly, or would he need time away from her to make sure it didn’t happen again? Did cold water really cure it? Was he in control of it? Would he feel uncomfortable, if she asked what triggered it? If she asked how sensitive he was, or if she had hurt him?

_This is unladylike, and unfair to him, and just…_

_Stop it!_

But his body hadn’t been lying, just as hers wasn’t lying now. She had done _that_ to him, through her own instinctive sensuality paired with his willingness to let her get close. And he had done _this_ to her, though his eagerness and the way he encouraged her playing and pushing and more. It had been because of her proximity, or her words, or her whispered breath against his neck, she was positive of it!

And the idea that she had caused him to react in such a manner was intoxicating. Like overdosing on lyrium in the field, everything became hyperfocused, every sensation became more so, and she lost track of time in her thoughts. Every time she thought of the feeling of his erection against her hand, Eilwyn felt a pulse of pleasure at the apex of her thighs, a flex of her muscles bringing an ache of desire to her very core.

She wondered if this meant something important. More seriously, she wondered if she could ask Alistair about it without making him feel uncomfortable.

_I probably could, but I won’t._

_Not just yet._

So she lay there until she could hear Zevran and Wynne wake up to begin making breakfast. She closed her eyes as she heard Alistair greet them warmly, and steeled herself for the day to come. She'd take whatever the day could possibly hold for her beyond this extremely embarrassing, empowering start.

It could only get better from here, she was certain of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, just because you're an innocent froggy doesn't mean you can't be real thirsty, too (˶′◡‵˶)･♪:*♪
> 
> I like the idea of Eilwyn being extremely into the idea of exploring her physical nature, even though she's a nervous wreck at the prospect. I think it goes to show how much she trusts Alistair, but also how hormones are absolutely out of control and terrifying and strange things to grapple with.
> 
> Sorry (not sorry) for the cringe-inducing cheesy sweetness! Denerim is next! Probably!


	19. Important Things In Denerim

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like... I would give much fewer warnings if I warned you before a SHORT chapter haha.
> 
> I headcanon that Denerim is much bigger and more complex than the in-game graphics have it seem, and that the market center is even richer than a few shops in a circle in the center.

Eilwyn did not have much experience with cities. Her first memories of going to market with her mother were of skirts, and bags of dried beans she could run her fingers over until her mother caught her and smacked her wrist. She remembered feeling excited, her heart beating fast, and she could also vaguely recall holding hands just as little as her own. Like her siblings had made a chain of children following like ducklings behind their mother, but that memory was more vague.

Regardless, as an adult, Eilwyn was ill-equipped to ignore the excitement that came with coming upon Denerim's imposing gates.

The first town she’d been in since being taken to the Circle was Lothering, and they’d made their way steadily but quickly through the streets in a way that didn’t allow for much exploring. She'd flitted about, heartsick and overwhelmed, and she'd wished more than anything that she could be alone instead of listening to so many people crying out for help.

But here, in Denerim, it was so much _more_ . Here, she could do _so much_ , and it sounded as if the city itself had a heartbeat. A pulse of life, the well and ebb of conversation and work and bustle that was like foreign music to Eilwyn's ears.

Directly before her were houses, a rural area. Some children were playing with a hoop and stick, women were out hanging their laundry, and a few armored guards seemed to be patrolling the area. Instinctively, even though the guards did not bear the Templar insignia, Eilwyn covered her staff with the hood of her cloak.

Beyond that, she heard Chantry bells, and the Chant being sung by more than one voice. She could smell elfroot and rosemary and freshly cut grass, and the chill on the air before they’d entered the city limits was cut with the warmth from the bustle of the area.

On the wind, the smell of fresh bread rolls, slathered in honey; baked fish, some kind of sauce atop it that Eilwyn recognized but could not name; and finally, most delectably, the scent of a roast haunch of bird, its skin most likely crispy and delightfully salty. Eilwyn felt her mouth begin to water, and she swallowed instinctively.

“Well,” she turned to her group. "We're in Denerim!"

“I suggest we move to the Chantry,” Leliana piped up.

“You would,” Alistair shot back.

“If we are to seek out this Genitivi,” Morrigan said, interrupting the back and forth, “I suggest we do it quickly. We may not be the only people seeking a ridiculous vase full of burnt corpse in order to cure what ails us.”

Leliana turned, an indignant look of hurt painted on her face, but before she could retort she was interrupted.

“I hear anvils,” Sten said from where he stood imposingly behind Wynne.

“Yes, I do as well,” the older mage agreed. She turned to Sten over her shoulder. “Would you like to go see if there is a forge? I’d be interested in finding someone to unburden us of… some of the more useless trappings we seem to have collected on the road.”

“My thoughts exactly, _bas_ ,” said the Qunari. “Shall we?”

“If you agree to call me by my proper name, then yes. Lead the way.”

"As you wish, enchanter."

"Oh, that will do," Wynne muttered. "For now."

“Wait,” Eilwyn stammered. “Are we all splitting up, just like that?”

“It might be more economical to,” Wynne said. “Did you need us to stay by your side?”

“No,” she answered, almost certain Wynne hadn’t intended that to sound as patronizing as it had come off.

_Just don’t want to lose track of my party, that’s all._

_Does a good leader let their people go willy-nilly?_

Ever since their talk, Eilwyn had given Wynne a respectable berth. She didn't avoid her, per se, but she was definitely aware that the mage was observant and seemed to be especially good at eavesdropping. If she was being totally honest, while it sometimes comforted her to have another mage who'd grown up as she did within her group, Eilwyn was becoming less and less amenable to feeling like she was back in the Circle. While it had its draws, homesickness was one thing... regression was another.

She was no longer a helpless apprentice, after all. The mere thought of being seen as one made her lower lip jut out in a petulant little scowl.

“Can you find a new collar for McWhistle while you’re there, then?” Eilwyn asked after a beat. “He’s got so many burns and scrapes on this one I’m afraid it’s on its last leg.”

“Yes. Come, mabari,” Sten said. “We will find you a collar worthy of your true nature.”

McWhistle sat down, tilting his head at Eilwyn with a whine.

“Go on, go with your Uncle Sten,” she said as she waved him off.

Sten narrowed his eyes at her, and it seemed like he was uncomfortable with the nickname. Eilwyn grinned awkwardly and merely shrugged as McWhistle trotted over to the other two. Wynne patted the dog’s forehead and the three of them were off just like that.

“I’ll stay with you,” Alistair said to Eilwyn, shifting his weight as he adjusted his shield further up on his back. “Not particularly fussed to go to the blacksmith when I’ve just barely gotten new plates.”

“Well, I will find the nearest inn,” Zevran spoke up, “and settle our arrangements for the night.”

“Not alone, you don’t,” Leliana said. She took a few quick hops over to his side. “I’m coming with you.”

“You are very welcome to,” Zevran said, “but might I ask… why the sudden interest?”

“To make sure you don’t do anything funny, of course.”

“Suspicious, aren’t we?” the elf teased with a grin. “I did not know we were still on such unstable footing, my friend.”

“It’s not- that’s not what I meant,” Leliana scrambled, looking suddenly a bit guilty.

Eilwyn raised her eyebrows, and Leliana bit back whatever she was going to say as her cheeks grew a touch pink.

“I’ll explain on the way, let’s go,” the redhead insisted, grabbing Zevran’s arm and turning him towards the center market.

“I do so love it when you’re forceful,” Zevran cooed, laughing as Leliana marched him forward.

“We reconvene at whatever inn you find,” Eilwyn called, shouting so that Wynne and Sten could hear her beyond the other two. Each one of them made some sign of acknowledgement, whether it was waving over their heads or turning to offer her a smile.

“In one hour!” she called.

This time, they didn’t turn, but she figured it was because they weren’t going to waste anymore time. She supposed she should feel grateful. Everyone splitting up to figure out their own paths made for a more efficient stop in the city. And she’d be lying if she didn’t want to have a night to divest herself of her armor and sit around indoors.

_Maybe we can try mead again…_

Still, Eilwyn felt as if this had all happened very quickly.

“Well, that takes care of most of our band of fools,” Morrigan said simperingly.

“Don’t feel so left out, I’m sure they’d be fine if you followed them,” Alistair replied.

“Oh, no, I am perfectly at ease where I am.” She paused and flinted her eyes in his direction. “You, however, must have somewhere to be, do you not? Some cinnamon treats to gorge yourself on, or some peasants to impress with your ability to count past the single digits?”

Alistair frowned.

“I said I was staying with Eilwyn, didn't I? So I'm here.”

“No plans of your own for the city?” she pushed. “No urgent matters that need attending to, no ideas of where to go next?”

Alistair said nothing, his expression conveying a look of stinging bitterness.

“Morrigan-” Eilwyn started to say, but the witch cut her off.

“One is hardly surprised,” Morrigan said, her voice a singsong. “Our dear, noble Alistair, once again deferring to his junior instead of having something in mind to do! When will we all tire of such a performance, I wonder?”

Normally, Eilwyn would expect Alistair to roll his eyes, or come back at her with a cutting remark of his own. For the most part, he seemed immune to Morrigan's particular brand of sarcastic critique. Sometimes, on rare occasions where one of them would toe the line with inappropriate insults, Eilwyn would have to intervene and tell them to go to separate parts of camp to dissuade an argument.

But today was different.

Without saying a word, Alistair simply turned on his heel and began walking away. His eyes had seemed blank, an expression he wore so rarely that Eilwyn almost did not catch it as he turned. Eilwyn felt her heart leap into her throat.

“W-Wait!” she called. “Alistair-”

“Oh let the boy pout,” Morrigan said, but Eilwyn caught the witch's wrist with her hand and pulled Morrigan back to face her.

“Can't you lay off of him?” she demanded, just as Morrigan yanked her arm free. “Just once?”

“Tis not my fault his skin is thinner than his sense of humor!” Morrigan protested, raising one eyebrow as if she had no idea why Eilwyn was defending him in the first place.

_Because he didn't even bother defending himself, that's why._

“Please,” Eilwyn begged. “For me. Just while we’re in Denerim, don’t pick at each other. And before you ask, yes, I will tell him the same blighted thing, just… for me.”

Morrigan said nothing, but she rolled her eyes and let out a _tsk_. Before she could get angry, or follow them, Eilwyn came up with a flimsy excuse for the witch to break apart on her own. She liked Morrigan, she really did, but she needed her away from Alistair for the moment.

“I know it's too much to ask of you, but I would be ever so grateful if you could find some spell components for me. If you get the chance,” Eilwyn said, walking backwards towards where Alistair had stalked off to.

Morrigan shot her a flinty look of disdain, and Eilwyn struggled to explain herself.

“I need to restock, and I just figured, if you were also low on-”

“Yes, yes, go on,” Morrigan spat. “Wouldn’t want the boy to get lost in the big scary city, would we?”

Before Eilwyn could get angry, or even reply, Morrigan waved her hand and began to walk in the opposite direction.

She hated this, hated feeling as if she was choosing. Guilt coursed through her, because she knew Morrigan was much like herself. She’d unwillingly been forced to spend time on the outer edge of populated areas, inexperienced with polite etiquette and socialization beyond the limited company she’d been forced to keep.

_I know what that’s like._

But Morrigan, unlike Eilwyn, sauntered off with a confident sway in her hips. She did not even look back. After only the briefest hesitation, Eilwyn turned and jogged off to her warrior’s side.

Alistair was walking towards the Chantry, his stride long and deliberate. He barely turned to her when she reached for his arm, but she noticed he did slow down once she caught onto his elbow.

“Hey,” she called, tugging him to a stop.

They were just outside the Chantry walls, beyond where a group was bowed in prayer. Alistair turned to face her, his expression one she hadn’t seen for a while.

He was anxious. She could tell by the way his brow furrowed tightly, by the way his jaw clenched. His eyes were bright and distracted, barely taking her in before they continued to indulge in whatever his mind was showing him. His shoulders were hunched, and he kept shifting his weight back and forth from hip to hip, as if he wanted to keep moving or doing something.

“Hey,” she said again, softer this time. She gentled her touch at his elbow, and the sound of a benediction repeated in unison began behind them. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he answered, his voice a forced lightness that she didn’t believe.

Eilwyn trained him with a knowing eye.

"You never let her get to you so quickly," she muttered. "Something's on your mind."

Alistair sighed, his expression cracking a bit, revealing nerves beneath the numbness.

“I don’t…”

He gave up, cutting himself off, shaking his head.

“Is it about your sister?” Eilwyn asked, bringing her other hand to the center of his chestplate.

Alistair’s jaw clenched tighter, if that was possible. After a minute, he let out a quick exhale, like he’d been holding his breath and could do so no longer. He nodded, avoiding her gaze.

“Do you want to-”

“I know she lives in Denerim, but I don’t know where,” Alistair muttered in a flurry of words. “And being here, seeing how big it all is, seeing all that we have to do while we're here, what if... what if I don’t find her? It’s scary enough if I _do_ find her, but what if…”

He made a noise in the back of his throat, seemingly frustrated beyond words.

_Morrigan’s jabs didn’t help that uncertainty, I’m sure._

“Feels daunting, doesn’t it?” Eilwyn offered.

Alistair nodded once more.

“It does for me too,” she conceded. “This is the first really big city I’ve ever been in.”

He reached up and placed a hand over her palm, the one she had pressed against his chest. Eilwyn wondered how fast his heart must be beating beneath there, the uncertainty of what was to come or, worse, what might _not_ come leading him down a path of agitation. She watched him twist his lips into a frown.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t be so focused on this. We should take a minute and… absorb it.”

Eilwyn stayed silent, noting that it looked as if Alistair was trying to clear his mind. She wanted to tell him no, that that wasn't necessary, but her mind was working on something else as he fumbled about his words.

“I don’t mind, really," Alistair said, his voice that forced lightness once more. "We can even catch up with Morrigan, get you those feathers and crushed stones you’ve been talking about-”

“I have a plan,” she interrupted.

Alistair glanced down at her, vague amusement written in his eyes.

“A plan for what?”

“For finding Goldanna,” Eilwyn said, and she bounced once up on the balls of her feet as she did so. She hoped if she showed him that this was exciting, not scary, that he would feel more at ease.

In this moment, he still looked a bit ill, to be honest.

“We start looking, subtly, for her. Just for an hour. Just here and there,” she flicked her other hand, the one not pressed to his sternum, about her person. “Just testing the waters. If we find something concrete about where she is, we don’t have to go right away. We can go after we’ve had a chance to regroup at whatever inn Zevran finds. After we have a chance to bathe,” she pressed hard on his chest, as if that was mainly directed at him alone, and Alistair let out a scoff of a laugh, “and to relax. We’ll think of it more levelly if we get a chance to slow down, don’t you think?”

Alistair paused, and his brow quirked.

“You really think we’ll find her in a city this large?” he asked her, and his hand released hers as he searched her eyes for sincerity. She drew her fingers back to brush a few loose hairs off of her own forehead.

“Yes. I really do,” Eilwyn nodded. She held his eyes steadily, even though she had to bend her head back a bit in order to do so.

“Hmm.”

Alistair rolled his shoulders once, twice, and then nodded resolutely.

“Right. Where to first, then?”

“We’re already here,” Eilwyn said, motioning to the Chantry. “Might as well start with the Sisters!”

“Great,” Alistair said. But even though his tone was one of slight displeasure, Eilwyn could tell he was more himself. He carried himself slightly taller, now that he had a plan to follow.

She walked alongside him in the brisk autumn noontime sun, determined to help it go smoothly if she could. And this way, she would have him as an escort across the busiest parts of the city, she would get a chance to drink in all the sights.

It was a win-win.

* * *

An hour later, she and Alistair had trolled about the market in a cursory, lazy circle. They'd bought a few snacks, some little fried confections that Alistair recommended, and Alistair had begun to joke with her again before they'd finished licking the sugar from their fingers. The day had seemed perfect to Eilwyn, in those moments. The chill of the air was balanced by the warmth of the wood stoves and coal fires about the market square. When the crowds grew too large around a popular stall, Alistair put his hand on the small of her back so that he would not lose her, and Eilwyn moved them forward.

When they spoke with shopkeeps, Alistair took turns letting her speak first. She noticed that he watched her, observing her, and it was so significantly different from the way Wynne watched her. The senior enchanter always looked as if she was taking notes on Eilwyn's performance, and then compiling those notes into a mental assessment. Eilwyn was aware of her every move, aware of how every decision would affect her standing with the woman she respected. But Alistair looked as if he was waiting for a cue from her, or a sign. They were in this together, and it felt as if she was dancing around Denerim with him at her side. When she spoke, it was without thinking, free flowing as she scarcely allowed herself to talk to others before him. She flattered herself that he felt it too, because when she glanced at him with an encouraging smile, he beamed back at her with unabashed tenderness.

Even so, Alistair was not entirely himself. They had gathered enough information that they had both grown simultaneously more relieved and infinitely more nervous.

_She's really here._

_It's more real, now._

They had found out that Goldanna lived somewhere near the main square in the Market District, and that she had a very nondescript house with a sprig of holly usually nailed to the lintel. She worked from her home, so they could enter it freely… once they found it, that is. It would be enough to do so when they’d taken a moment for themselves, when they felt confident enough.

With that in mind, they wandered over to Gnawed Noble Tavern to reconvene with the others.

Inside, Wynne was already waiting for them at a table with Leliana. The two women were playing cards, with a third set of them facedown in the corner.

“Sten stayed with the smith for a fitting,” Wynne stated as Eilwyn came up to say hello. “And Zevran is unpacking in his room.”

“He has a room to himself?” Eilwyn asked.

“We all do,” Leliana said happily.

Eilwyn narrowed her eyes, apprehension blooming in her chest.

“Wait, we don’t have enough gold for that,” she muttered. “Do we?”

“We didn’t,” Leliana said as she rearranged her cards in her hand. “But with a few trades, some well-placed notes, and a few under-the-table arrangements, we managed to secure a room for each of us for two nights.”

“Two…” Eilwyn put a hand on the table to steady herself.

Alistair made a noise, but she couldn’t tell if it was a positive one or not. It was a tic in the back of his throat, not quite a cough.

_Why does this make me uncomfortable?_

“If you traded my dog, I'm going to have a fit,” she muttered, and she let her tone convey a touch of her displeasure at such dealings.

“Not at all,” Zevran said from behind her, and Eilwyn startled at the sound of his voice. “Woah, there, it is only me. You are very jumpy, do you know this?”

“She is,” Leliana agreed.

“Don’t sneak up on me,” Eilwyn exhaled, a flat palm pressed to the center of her chest.

“I do not mean to be sneaky. It is the curse of the assassin. Try as I might, I embody excessive sneakiness.”

"We had a surplus of venom, garnet shards, and interesting papers," Leliana said, continuing her conversation with Eilwyn as if Zevran hadn't interrupted it. "Nothing we could not stand to part with."

“Wait, what-”

“Your rooms are all on the second floor,” Zevran continued, ignoring her. “Whereas mine and Leliana’s are on the first. I hope that is acceptable.”

“Wait, wait, wait.”

Eilwyn held her hands out, and when she had their full attention, she raised her eyes to Zevran’s and Leliana's in turn.

“You traded venom… like the _poison_ venom… for a good night’s sleep?” she asked in a whisper.

“Yes,” Zevran said slowly. “What other venom is there?”

“There are novelty drinks that…” Alistair must’ve belatedly registered Eilwyn’s expression of displeasure and cleared his throat. “You know, nevermind.”

Regret at having let her two rogueish friends go off to barter for their keeps coursed through Eilwyn’s veins like ice.

“Did we do something wrong?” Leliana asked, concern marring her voice.

“No. But… kind of? That just… doesn’t look good for us," Eilwyn murmured.

_Here I was, trying to be a good leader, and now I've got a black market room for not one, but two nights._

_Is this a win, or not?_

“What, sleeping in a proper bed as opposed to the hard ground is a bad thing?” Zevran teased.

“Okay, just," Eilwyn turned, shaking her head at the teasing. She was not in the mood. "Try to see it from my perspective, okay? We’re already wanted for supposedly betraying our king. There are posters outside warning people about Grey Wardens, Zevran. That's why trading underhanded items for a cushy bed does not look good.”

“Nobody is looking, lady Warden,” Zevran dismissed with more than a bit of disdain. “And besides, I was the one who made the reservations, yes? If anything, it reflects on the ingenuity of your dashing, most handsome party member.”

He tossed two keys onto the table, one of them bouncing up so that Eilwyn had to catch it by slamming her palm onto it. It rustled the cards on the table, but Zevran moved to retrieve his hand before they fell onto the floor.

She paused, feeling frustration coursing through her. She tracked it, controlling it, settling her veneer back in place with a few deep breaths. When she felt less frightened, less nervous, she tried to speak.

“I don’t mean to sound ungrateful,” Eilwyn said, gripping the key in her hand. “I just…”

Something Alistair said once cropped up in her head. She couldn’t remember exactly how he'd phrased it, but she was pretty sure it had been in connection with accepting help from Flemeth.

_“With only two of us in Ferelden, the Grey Wardens are in no position to refuse. We need as much help as we can get.”_

She shook her head and gave a long, low sigh.

“Okay. Okay, you’re right,” she conceded. “We needed to get rid of those things anyway, our packs were getting a bit full. This was grand of you two to do, and I’m sorry.”

Leliana gave her a look that seemed almost like a sad smile. As if she were moved, or perhaps felt sorry for Eilwyn. It was difficult to tell which, so Eilwyn merely gave a tight-lipped smile back and ignored it.

“Think nothing of it, lady Warden,” Zevran said with a smirk. “Nobody else is.”

He was probably right. Eilwyn gave a little sigh as she looked down at the key in her hand. It had a number written on it, 205. She glanced to her side, where Alistair was standing without moving.

“You alright?” she asked as she handed him his key.

206.

Alistair took it with a look of relief.

“Actually yes,” he said, and then let out a long sigh. “I was just trying to calculate in my head how many venom samples and whatever else this took to get us seven rooms for two nights. Got a little dizzy there for a second.”

“That is because you should not think of such a thing, my friend,” Zevran said, drawing and discarding as he went. “Attempted mathematics is how you will get grey hairs, I promise you this.”

Alistair gave a _hmph_ , but did not argue. Pushing a hand through his hair almost unconsciously, he turned back to Eilwyn with a look of eagerness that set her heart beating faster.

“I’ll, um… I’ll go get ready, then?” he said quietly. “Think about what I’ll say, and all that?”

“No rush,” she answered, patting him on his breastplate. “We’ll eat, relax. You should try to rest up for a bit, so you’re not so tense. Take a nap, if you can.”

“Right,” he agreed, and then, his pace a bit halting as if he had wanted to stay longer, he made his way to the stairs up to the second floor. Eilwyn watched him leave, a wistful smile on her face. Catching herself, however, she straightened her back and sat down at the table next to Wynne.

Willfully ignoring the way her entire party seemed to be watching her with knowing smiles on their faces, Eilwyn cleared her throat.

“So. What are we playing?”

* * *

An hour passed, and Alistair was still up in his room. Eilwyn was growing hungry, as were her friends, but not for tavern fare. Not while they had the delicacies of Denerim at their disposal just a few paces away.

Morrigan had shown up halfway through their first round of Wicked Grace, with a satchel full of various herbs and spell components slung across one shoulder. Having declined to play a game, even against a perennial loser such as Eilwyn, Morrigan was now daintily sipping a ginger beer as she watched the company try to decide what to eat.

“I thought I smelled mint garlic sauce and silverfin by the blacksmith,” Wynne said. “That sounds lovely after nothing but rabbits and dried salted pork. A little bit of fresh fish would be divine,” she sighed happily.

“Perhaps for you, but I think that the rest of us need something more filling,” Zevran said, reaching across to grip at Eilwyn’s arm. “Look how thin our leader is. She could use some meat on her bones.”

“Leave her alone,” Leliana said, laughing as she took another slow gulp of her diluted mead. When she swallowed it down, she winked across the table at Eilwyn. “She’s got meat enough.”

“Please stop talking about me as if I am a haunch of pork,” Eilwyn groaned, earning her a chuckle from most of her friends. Wynne even raised her little glass of port as if to toast such an agreement.

Eilwyn had a mug of mead in front of herself, but she was less inclined to drink it. Even though her friends were partaking as they relaxed for the night, she just didn’t want to. For some reason, it wasn’t as appealing without her warrior at her side. It tasted divine, though, so she found herself tasting it every now and again as her friends discussed dinner.

“What if you all do the most logical thing and merely go where you please?” Morrigan asked, lifting her eyes from where they were glued in her grimoire. With her quill tapping against her cheek, Eilwyn thought she looked like a very stern headmistress.

“We could do that,” Eilwyn agreed. “Go out, grab a bite to eat, just explore for a little while?”

“Would you be alright with that?” Wynne asked, sounding almost dubious.

“Well, yes,” Eilwyn shrugged. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“No reason, dear,” Wynne said. “I just know we had very important things you wanted to do here. Things that meant we could not go elsewhere first, until you took care of them in Denerim.”

Eilwyn blushed and tried to keep her face absolutely neutral.

_Andraste’s flaming candlesticks, of course she would remember my piss-poor excuse-_

“Allow her a moment,” Morrigan said dryly. “I doubt she’s ever been in a city this large before.”

“Oh my. That’s right,” Wynne replied. “Eilwyn, did you never get a chance to go with the group of enchanters to-”

Eilwyn shrugged politely as Wynne detailed a trip that Eilwyn of course had never been allowed on. She’d only just passed her Harrowing before becoming a Grey Warden. She’d thought Ostagar had been a bustling place of strenuous activity, but Denerim was vastly different. It was busier in a lot of ways, and soothing in many others. The lanterns, in particular, held a fascinating aesthetic that Eilwyn was drawn to, even though it made her feel a bit childish to crane her neck back in order to gaze up at them.

_Strange that Morrigan would defend me._

_Maybe it was a dig? For earlier… the way I left her…_

Eilwyn chewed on her lower lip as she traced the rim of her mug. This whole ‘feeling guilty’ thing was so frustrating. If only she knew how to better read everyone, this wouldn’t happen so often.

“If we are to have a meal left to our own devices,” Sten said, pushing back from the table and dredging the rest of his ale in one gulp. He sat the empty tankard down on the table with surprising politeness. “Then I will reconvene with everyone later.”

“Where are you going to get food from?” Eilwyn asked him.

The Qunari paused, then turned to her with a hint of a smile.

It kind of scared her, if she was being frank. He rarely smiled at her. The last time had been on the road two days ago, when Alistair had been showing her how to properly tackle someone to the ground. When she'd caught her warrior by the waist and finally hip-checked him, Sten had nodded approvingly, and that had been impressive enough.

Now, he looked positively charmed.

“There are these little round pastries that smell of dough and sugar,” Sten said, his tone gentle. “In a stall just outside to the left of the tavern. Beside the dwarf selling craft from Orzammar. I intend to buy every flavor they have, and then test each of them to see which I like the best. I shall make room in my pack for whatever flavor is the most acceptable, before we move on from here.”

Leliana tittered, seeming greatly amused by the imagery.

“Do you have enough coin?” Eilwyn asked, moving to get to her coinpurse. “I saw that stall, there are at least a dozen different syrups-”

“That is so cute,” Leliana said. “You’re like his mum.”

Sten gave her a withering look as his features settled into place and he turned without dignifying her with a response. Leliana snickered further into her tankard, and Zevran stretched across the back of his chair as Wynne shook her head.

"Okay well..." Eilwyn sighed, at a loss. "I might go check on Alistair, see if he's doing alright."

"Why wouldn't he be?" Leliana asked.

Not quite sure how to answer, Eilwyn just shrugged. Before she could look any more suspicious, she stood and pushed in her chair.

"I'll be back down in a second."

* * *

The first knock did nothing. At first, Eilwyn worried that he was asleep, as she'd suggested, and that she'd wake him up. But an hour was a reasonable nap, she figured, and Alistair did need to also eat. So she knocked again, harder this time, and finally heard a shuffle inside.

"Give me a minute," Alistair called.

"It's just me," Eilwyn said back, but then she cursed herself just as soon as the words had left her mouth.

_It's just me?_

_Like he does't need a minute because it's me?_

As she stood there, wringing her hands and debating on what she was going to say, she heard the door unlock. A chain was pulled, and then Alistair opened the door. Eilwyn watched him recognize her; his pupils widened, his lips curved into a smile at the mere sight of her.

_Oh._

"Hey. I... ah... is everything okay?" he murmured, his voice husky. He was leaning forward, craned down to her level, with one hand on the doorjamb and one hand on the handle still where he'd opened it.

Eilwyn nodded, because now that she could see him, everything seemed to be fine.

Alistair was messy, in the best way. He looked like he'd slept. The collar of his tunic was undone, with the lacings left open and untied about his sternum. His armor in organized plates on the opposite end of the room by the fire. The singular window was open to the market beyond, and the smells of the stalls outside jogged Eilwyn's memory.

"Some of us are going to get some food," she said softly. "Would you want to come with us?"

"No. Sorry, thanks," Alistair shook his head, then swallowed hard. He gave a weak smile. "Don't feel quite up to it."

"Can I bring you anything back, then?"

Alistair bit his lips, then shook his head again, slower this time.

Concern coursed through her, cooling the warmth she felt at seeing Alistair out of his armor. She raised a hand to reach for him, but couldn't bring herself to touch him directly. Instead, she closed her fist and brought it to her own chest.

"Alistair. What's wrong?"

He shrugged, and his eyes flitted to the side as if he were debating something. Or choosing his words carefully. For a split-second, neither of them said anything, and then Alistair stepped backwards from the door to pull it open further.

An invitation. Eilwyn hesitated only once, then strode in.

"Your room is lovely," she said, her voice quiet. "Are they all like this?"

"I assume so," Alistair replied, closing the door behind her. "Have you not been in yours yet?"

"No. I got distracted."

"By?"

"I began a monumental losing streak at Wicked Grace," she said, and Alistair snorted.

She saw his hand hesitate at the latch, but then he dropped his fingers away. She couldn't tell if she was relieved or disappointed that he hadn't locked them both into the space together.

His room smelled of him already, a detail that she immediately noticed and immediately loved. It was hard to describe the way Alistair smelled in particular, but she could pinpoint the floral lubricants he used for keeping his leathers supple, and the scrub of salt, sand, and linseed oil that he used to clean his plates. She walked over to where he had organized his armor over by the fireplace, and ran her fingers gingerly over the sparkle of the chest plate.

_He's been cleaning for a while now, to get it to look this nice._

"I've been thinking, and... it's just made me feel sick," he said, and he brought his hand up to rub the opposite arm absentmindedly. "I'm trying not to dwell on it, but it's hard not to when my mind keeps turning in circles. It's like I've got a bunch of feisty kittens all tumbling about in my head."

"Kittens are pleasant little things."

"Not when you have to wrangle them," Alistair answered. He paused, looking like he wanted to smile, but then he didn't. He brought a hand up to his cheek and scratched at his stubble, his eyes fleeing from hers.

"What are you thinking about?" she asked, trying to keep her tone gentle. "I happen to like kittens very much, you know."

If he didn't want to talk about it, he shouldn't feel pressured to. She didn't want him to feel pressured to. But instead of growing more reserved, Alistair seemed to light up at the prospect. He made his way over to where Eilwyn was standing and gestured to the desk in the corner of the little room.

"If you want to see, I, um... I wrote some stuff down. If you want to take a look at it. Just trying to puzzle everything out, I figured having it on paper would make it seem less foolish."

"Good! Let me see."

He turned to her, his hips leaning on the desk, and held out the papers. In this light, with the sun still bright outside, he looked so young. Nervous. Shy.

Eilwyn rarely got to see him this vulnerable, she realized.

Alistair was usually outspoken and sociable, his words flying so freely that there were some cringes involved in the listening. He was always in full plate, unless he was cleaning it, and he kept a smile on his face when he could. Alistair cast a broad-shouldered shadow of mirth across everything he came into contact with, his ability to joke with anyone a saving grace when it came time to rest or venture into unknown areas. Eilwyn knew that she ultimately made the decisions, but she also felt like she looked to Alistair for guidance nine times out of ten.

Here, in his bedroom, Alistair looked smaller. He was holding out papers to her with a look of anticipation she hardly knew how to respond to, and even though she could only see the golden fuzz of hair along his forearm, he felt naked somehow. His shoulders were slight compared to when he wore his silverite, but not small by any normal means. They were still wider than her own. But without a layer of shell about his person, he seemed softer somehow. As if he needed her guidance now more than ever.

Instead of saying anything, Eilwyn merely walked over to his side and took the paper from him. She leaned her own hips on the desk as well, both of them facing out towards the empty bedroom, their thighs barely touching. At her proximity, Alistair seemed to only tense further, and Eilwyn had to resist reaching out to touch him to try to reassure. Instead, she gave the paper a snap and cleared her throat in an effort to make him smile.

"Oh. These are... hmm," she faltered.

It was a mess, if she was being honest. Alistair's handwriting wasn't the most legible in the best circumstances, not that she'd gotten a chance to see much of it. But compared to her tight, looping script, his was much less uniform. It was hurried, and he seemed to make no distinction between cursive and script. It seemed that nerves had made him prone to crossing and scribbling out things that he deemed unworthy, marring up the page a bit in the process. It made it so that Eilwyn had to squint at the paper for a minute to read it clearly.

The pause seemed to make Alistair nervous. He began to fidget at her side, crossing and uncrossing his arms to periodically wipe his hands down the length of his thighs.

The paper was a list of conversation starters, most of them crossed out and illegible. There were some massive scribbles where it looked like he'd scratched through an entire paragraphs. Some, however, had stars and arrows and notes next to them in the margins. There was even a little doodle at the bottom. Eilwyn peered at the page, trying to parse it out.

~~_Hello, I know who you are but I don't think you know who I am_ ~~ _ <\-- don't be creepy_

~~_i'm new in town and was wondering_~~ _ughhhhhh_

_Hey are you Goldanna? If so, I have a surprise ~~that you might be happy about~~   ~~that might come as a shock~~   that I hope doesn't make you uncomfortable_

_You don't know me, but my name is Alistair and I'm your brother <\-- most normal so far..._

~~_Is it okay if I ask you something personal?_ ~~ _INAPPROPRIATE_

The doodle was what made Eilwyn wince.

It was of a door, a holly sprig attached to the lintel, and a name written in looping script on the mail plate. It was drawn in a shaky, nervous hand, and she could tell Alistair didn't draw often. She wondered why he'd put it on paper here, this crooked little thing in the bottom corner of the page, when the rest of it was just the script he was mentally working on. It broke a piece of Eilwyn to see that, to know how desperate he was for some connection to his sister.

_What if he's right?_

_What if something goes wrong?_

"You've been practicing your opening lines, then?" Eilwyn asked, turning to him as she let the paper fall back down to rest against one thigh. She tried not to let her worry show on her face, instead looking up with a half-smile on her lips.

"Ah, yeah," Alistair shrugged, crossing his arms once more. "I figured, I know the taste of my own foot well enough by now, don't need to shove it back in my mouth first time I meet my sister."

Eilwyn grimaced, giving a helpless chuckle.

"I know what you mean, but that's disgusting imagery."

"What, me sucking on my own foot like an infant?"

"Stop!" Eilwyn laughed, swatting at him with the paper. When Alistair flashed her a smile, she felt relief for one brief moment.

But then it was gone again, as soon as he quieted. The twist of his lips faded, and he was left looking so lost and lonely that Eilwyn didn't hardly know what to do.

_I wish I could fix this for you._

"I like this one you circled," she said, bringing the paper back up to show him. "I think if you introduce yourself simply, keep straight to the point, it'll make the rest of it go easier."

"Mmm," he sighed. "But that seems so callous."

"It's not callous to be direct," Eilwyn said, but even she knew it was a bit of a lie. She hated confrontation, so much so that she accepted a lot in stride.

To be fair, being brought up in the Circle left little other choices, besides avoiding direct conflict.

"Okay, if it were you," Alistair ran one hand through his hair, the other staying crossed over his chest. "What would you say?"

"To my siblings?"

"Yeah," Alistair sighed. "What would you say to your brother, in particular? If that isn't strange of me to ask."

Eilwyn smiled sadly and gave a nervous titter.

"Hi, you don't know me, but my name is Eilwyn. I'm your oldest sister that got sent to the Circle when you were a baby. Nice to meet you."

Alistair made a noise of disbelief, and Eilwyn tapped his thigh with the back of her hand before he could speak.

"I'm not joking. Be nice."

"It's just not that easy," he muttered. Then after a second he turned to her. "I mean, is it really that easy for you?"

"It... would have to be, right?" she whispered. "He was a baby when I was taken. If I met him now, he'd be a person I never got a chance to know. It's..." she paused and bit her lip. "I would want to get the awkward facts out of the way, and then we could ask questions. So maybe that's what Goldanna would want from you."

"I see," Alistair said softly. "I don't..."

He trailed off, and he swallowed so hard that it was audible from where Eilwyn stood at his side. 

"Hey," she said, reaching behind Alistair to put the letter down on the desk at his hip. Standing before him, she placed a hand on his elbow, right where he had his arms folded. As if her touch was more than he could bear, she watched him stiffen, and Eilwyn made a sympathetic grimace automatically. "You know, working yourself up into a tizzy before we go to see her won't help you any."

Alistair narrowed his eyes at her, a little smirk playing on his lips. A flash of playfulness, then it was gone.

"I need you to relax. And if I can help in any way, I want to," Eilwyn said, smoothing over his forearm with her palm. "I don't know what you must be feeling right now, but I can imagine."

He looked down at her through his lashes, his voice strained.

"Can you?"

"Yes," she muttered, thinking back to the Fade. Blinking away the sickly green of that memory, she trained Alistair with what she hoped was a convincing stare. "Tell you what. When we next find ourselves near my family's estate, we'll drop by my mom's. Say hi. Catch up. You can watch me make an arse out of myself in front of the entire Amell clan."

Alistair smiled down at her hands as he began to relax, and Eilwyn grabbed onto both of his elbows in order to give him a gentle shake. His skin felt warm where his sleeves were rolled up, his body denser than she'd expected even without all of the armor. As she shook him, he lolled his head back as if she'd employed more force than she had. For a moment, Eilwyn wondered if this was too much, if their meager connection was too much.

But then Alistair made a noise. He gazed down at her with that familiar tenderness he'd had in the market, and Eilwyn hoped it meant he liked her hands where they were.

"Deal?" she asked, raising one eyebrow.

"You want me to meet your family?" Alistair asked.

Eilwyn was suddenly and starkly aware of the lack of distance between them. How often things shifted like this, didn't they? How often she found herself having a perfectly respectable conversation with Alistair, and then without any indication, it was suddenly darker. Richer. More viscous and delicious and out of her hands.

_Or in my hands, like he is now._

Alistair's voice was what clued her in, as did the dreamy look in his eyes. She wondered if maybe he was just sleepy, but then she watched his eyes dip to her lips. As her pulse raced, as her fingertips tingled where they connected with his skin, Eilwyn watched Alistair drag his lower lip in between his teeth.

"Yes," Eilwyn whispered, feeling incredibly helpless.

He gave a grunt of a laugh.

"You wouldn't be ashamed of the big, stupid Templar trailing about after you?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. His eyes still hadn't moved, as if he were captivated.

It was Eilwyn's turn to scoff.

"What?" she muttered. Alistair's eyes flicked up to meet hers, and it was unclear whether or not he was joking. But he looked pretty serious. Eilwyn could feel her voice scratching with concern. "You don't really think I see you that way, do you?"

His hands came to rest on her hips, and she tilted her chin up reflexively.

_Maker... I don't..._

_What do I do here?_

_Say nothing? Say something?_

_I don't want him to stop._

"You, my pretty," she cooed, her voice barely crone-like, "are not stupid."

He let out a chuckle that sounded as if it had escaped without his permission. She shifted forward, her knee bumping against his.

"You are clever, and good at the things you set your mind to," Eilwyn continued.

_And so very handsome._

"If this is any indication of my mental capabilities," Alistair muttered, reaching behind himself to pat the crumpled list on the desk, "then I have no choice but to call you a liar, magelet."

Eilwyn tilted her head, and he glanced down at her mouth again as he drew her forward.

_When did his hands make their way there?_

*I'm telling the truth," she whispered, glimmering with anticipation.

"Oh," he groaned softly. At the tone, Eilwyn felt her knees go weak, just for a second. There was a pleasant slide within her belly, a pulse at the center of her core, one that beat out another glow of pleasure when Alistair added roughly, "You are such a liar."

As if to emphasize the point, Alistair's hands resting just above her hipbones, his fingers loosely gripped about her waist. He gave her an answering jostle, mimicking the way she'd shaken him, but less so. Still, her knees were like jelly, and she had to grip his forearms tighter so that she did not take a stumbling step back.

"Keep teasing me, ser," Eilwyn dared him, her own voice just as low as his. "You'll get more snow in your face."

"Is that so?" Alistair asked. He looked less than threatened. Actually, he seemed positively eager. He leaned down, closing more of the distance between them. She had to stand less on her tiptoes now, could relax as he drew into her space. "I'd like to see you try that again," he continued. "You realize I let you win, right? Back in the Circle."

A frisson of exhilaration made Eilwyn physically shiver. Alistair noticed, she knew he did, because his eyes widened in amused surprise. Rather than letting herself feel embarrassed, Eilwyn decided to push him back. Her fingers tightening their grip on his biceps, she smirked. 

"Don't test me, Warden. I'll hold you down again," she whispered, her eyes darting from his gaze down to his lips and back again.

He made a noise. It wasn't quite a groan, wasn't quite a laugh. His fingers flexed, and she wished that she had changed over from her robes into something thinner.

_His hands are so big._

_I want..._

Instinct, something base within her, drew her hands up across his arms to rest on his collarbones. Alistair seemed to straighten his shoulders underneath of her touch, and his hands flexed upwards along her waist.

"You sound like you want that," Eilwyn whispered, at a loss for what to say but desperate to continue the momentum.

No pulling back this time, no sitting further from the fire. No pressure, no fear.

_Okay, maybe a little fear._

"What I want from you," Alistair whispered, his voice low and rough, "is not exactly relevant to the topic at hand."

Eilwyn's heart redoubled its frantic pace. Was it possible they wanted the same things then? Because all she could think about was how close he was, how energy was coursing through her being with pleasurable consistency, how sleep-roughened Alistair looked and-

"Well," she breathed, her eyes on his. "You could tell me anyway?"

She watched his chest rise and fall, a rapid intake of breath, and she wondered if he was going to stop them here.

It was quick. An inhaled breath, a press forward, closed eyelashes and parted lips. She knew it was happening only as it happened, only as Alistair closed his eyes and leaned down to brush his mouth against hers in a soft caress. They were crushed gently together, her arms pinned against his chest, her body flush against the length of him.

Eilwyn could feel a quick nip of teeth, a little roughness behind the smooth glide of Alistair's lips, as if gentleness was on the forefront of his mind but behind it lurked insistence. She could feel his gasp at her cheek, could feel his hands slide up along her back then down once more, could feel the clamor of her heart in her ears as she realized what was happening.

Eilwyn made a noise and pulled back.

It was instinct. She'd never had someone get so close, had someone touch that part of her.

_Everything I've read... everything I've heard..._

For several heartbeats, the two of them said nothing. They merely stared at one another wide-eyed with lips still parted. At least Alistair looked just as unbalanced as she felt, that was the only consolation. He looked as if he couldn't catch his breath, as if he was frightened, and Eilwyn could not say why. She brought a hand up to touch to her lips, her fingernails barely tapping at her cupid's bow.

_My first kiss._

She could feel her skin overheating, could feel herself blushing, and she was absolutely powerless. Her skin felt like sunlight was trapped just beneath it, struggling to get out, so beautiful and light and yet almost painful. She tried to breathe deeply, but her chest felt too small for all of her feelings. Her mind rushed about in place, running over and over what had just happened, her emotions tumbling the one over the other.

_Like kittens._

"I-I'm sorry," Alistair whispered, and he let go of her waist to touch her elbow instead. "I should have asked first, I'm so-"

"No, no, it's okay," Eilwyn laughed nervously, her hands flying back to Alistair's collar. Her index finger lay faintly against his pulse, but she could feel it thumping out a fearful rhythm even beneath the lightest of touches. She took in a deep breath, then shakily admitted, "I just... don't know what to do. With my... anything."

"With your anything?" he repeated, and luckily he sounded as if he was as breathless and desperate as she felt.

"Yeah," she said. She opened her mouth to explain, then shut it.

She had been about to say that she didn't know what to do with her mouth, but the thought of articulating that alone was enough to immobilize her completely.

_Our bodies are so close._

_He's so warm._

_Can I try that again?_

_What were we talking about before?_

"Eilwyn..." Alistair's fingers traced along her arm, then back along the blades of her shoulders. "Was that too much? Too fast?"

Instead of speaking, which she wasn't sure she was capable of doing, Eilwyn leaned forward until her forehead bumped clumsily into Alistair's collarbone. Nuzzling into his chest, she inhaled a slow breath and pressed gently into him.

Alistair never seemed to hesitate. His hands came up to her back, and then he was holding her. It was unobtrusive, a support rather than an entrapment, and Eilwyn dragged her hands down to wrap about his waist. She leaned so hard into him that she heard him grunt as his hips hit the desk once more, the quill and inkwell rattling a bit as he resituated himself against it. But he did not let go. In fact, Alistair squeezed her with a quiet fierceness that made her feel safe, as if the power was rebalanced between them. For the first time that she could remember, Eilwyn hugged Alistair fully to herself, without his armor separating them.

"I think," Alistair said, his cheek resting against the part in her hair, "that I have the absolute worst timing in the world."

_That's right._

_That's why we're here._

She laughed, wondering why returning to the previous subject made her want to cry.

"I don't regret it," Alistair said, and Eilwyn could feel him bring his hand up to cradle the nape of her neck. "If you don't regret it, that is. I just wanted-"

"Can we try again later?" Eilwyn asked.

Alistair stilled, and it was only then that she realized he had been gently swaying with her in his arms, back and forth as she held him back.

"Um, I mean," she hurried to clarify her words, all while closing her eyes and hiding herself further in his chest. "I just meant that when we finish with your sister, we can talk more freely about..."

_Kisses._

"Us," she finished lamely.

"That would be best, right?" Alistair murmured. "One thing at a time?"

Eilwyn sighed heavily against him.

"Maybe?" she answered.

_I don't know._

_I don't know anything except how good this feels._

_I don't want to know anything beyond this feeling. Not right now. Not with what might come later._

Eilwyn stayed there, in his arms, quiet and comfortable as Alistair shifted slowly from hip to hip with his hand massaging the base of her skull. Eilwyn felt like lightning ill-contained in a jar, tense and crackling and wanting, but she knew he was right. Now wasn't the time. It just couldn't be, not with how nervous Alistair was. Giving him one more thing to worry about, telling him how inexperienced she was, asking him to focus on teaching her... it would have to wait.

And she was content to wait, up until their stomachs growled within mere seconds of one another.

At first, they kept still, as if their bellies were predators passing by and would leave them be if there was no movement. But then Alistair's stomach gurgled louder, demanding, hungry after a day of practically nothing, and they could not longer ignore how long they'd been relaxing in each other's arms. Eilwyn didn't even think about how it would look to the rest of the companions downstairs, prayed only that they would have been long gone on their own search for supper.

With the sun setting slowly over Denerim, Alistair led Eilwyn wordlessly out of the room, the crumpled list and postponed kisses momentarily forgotten on the edge of the desk as the door closed behind them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well now!
> 
> I've had this chapter saved since last week, but I was all over the place with whether or not I should keep the in-game first kiss, initiated by Alistair, or adding in this side one. The reason why I went with this is because my first kiss, dunno if y'all remember yours, was a laughable throwaway of a peck. Remind me to tell you sometime, it's a hoot. This was a compromise, Eilwyn! You can't have it work out picture-perfectly the first time ^^;;
> 
> In other news, I keep wondering when I'm going to slow down on this story, but it's just coming very naturally. I honestly did NOT expect this to go Honey Whiskey territory with how long it is haha. If you're still with me, you're absolutely wonderful, and I'm so glad you're here <3
> 
> Also, oof, sorry. Let's break some hearts in the next chapter, eh? Break 'em so we can mend 'em!
> 
> (Also, also, if anyone knows where to find exactly where the Amells lived, please tell me... I haven't had a chance to run through my beginning again to check and my google-fu isn't up to snuff)


	20. Airing Dirty Laundry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made some executive decisions with this chapter that I'll elaborate on at the end. Enjoy!

At the bottom of the stairs, Wynne and Zevran were there to meet them, which admittedly threw Eilwyn for a bit of a loop. She’d thought she could take a walk with just Alistair, maybe try to bring up what had happened back in his room. But it seemed the night was going to go differently than she’d imagined.

_As if it hasn’t already._

“Wynne, my second favorite mage,” Alistair called as he bounced down the stairs. “Have you eaten?”

“You didn’t have to wait for us, if you haven't,” Eilwyn said, pulling her braid over one shoulder.

“Waiting for you was precisely what we needed to do, actually,” Zevran said, glancing back and forth between Alistair and Eilwyn. When she caught her friend’s eye, he tilted his head at her and gave her a look she couldn’t read. “You… might want to go change, my friends.”

Zevran and Wynne took turns explaining what had happened. Leliana and Morrigan had encountered two assassins in a back alley on their way to a dumpling stall, and had apparently taken care of them with deadly and precise discretion. They’d come back, dumplings in hand, while Eilwyn was-

_kissing_

-talking to Alistair upstairs. As they split off to their separate rooms for the night, they had not wanted Eilwyn to leave without the knowledge that people were on high alert for the Grey Wardens and their companions.

"Do you have any heavier robes, dear?" Wynne asked.

"No," Eilwyn shook her head. "I've been meaning to do some shopping. Will these not do for now?"

"They will have to."

It took Eilwyn but a moment to check the buckling on her sides and tighten up her gauntlets. Alistair, however, was sent up to the second floor in order don his full plate.

_Shame, that… we were almost in public together like regular people_.

Eilwyn grabbed up her cloak from the table, along with her staff. She would have normally elected to leave it behind, but she couldn’t be too careful.

“I can wait for Alistair,” Eilwyn said. “If you two want to go ahead, you can.”

“You would send me from your side so callously?” Zevran asked, feigning chest pain or heartbreak, or some third thing to cause him to clutch haphazardly at his chest with that teasing smirk. She shook her head, amused, but then remembered she was being watched.

“Do as you wish,” Eilwyn answered politely, avoiding Wynne’s gaze.

Not that Wynne was necessarily looking at her directly to begin with. She seemed very preoccupied in gathering her own scarf about her neck, adjusting it precisely around the tightly gathered bun at the nape of her neck. She looked so elegant though, so kindly, that Eilwyn almost felt the anxiety she had about the senior mage dissipate.

Almost.

Alistair came down the stairs in record time. How he’d ever learned to don armor so thoroughly, and by himself to boot, Eilwyn wasn’t sure she wanted to know. The way he’d cleaned his silverite made it gleam like starlight, reflecting every candle in the tavern back in hues of grey and gold. Eilwyn only realized she was staring at his approach when Zevran gave her a little elbow to the ribs.

When she turned, Zev gave her an eyebrow waggle that made her blush, and Eilwyn left before anyone could say anything aloud about it. She heard them follow, and she adjusted her cloak hood over her staff as they walked off to grab supper.

* * *

They walked to get the fish Wynne had spoken of before, much to the elf’s lamentations. It was a short walk, past where Sten was still stationed between the dessert stands by the tavern, past where Eilwyn had heard vendors calling out jewelry prices, almost back to the side of the market nearest to the Chantry.

But the fish was worth it. It was so delicious that after trying a bite of Eilwyn’s, Zevran quelled his complaining. He proceeded to buy not one, but two for himself. ‘One for each hand’, as he said enough times to make Eilwyn think he was being dirty. For the better part of their meandering about the market, however, his mouth was too full to make many comments.

Strangely enough, it was Wynne who filled the gaps in conversation. She seemed to want to encourage Eilwyn to choose a specialization, told her that had she remained at the Circle, someone of Eilwyn's prowess would have been trained in something specific long ago. The praise felt a bit hollow, but when Eilwyn caught Wynne’s eye, there was warmth there. She looked genuine, and her advice seemed rooted in her recent observations of Eilwyn in combat. It gave Eilwyn pause.

_Maybe she’s reaching out?_

As Wynne spoke to Eilwyn of specializations, asking her if she'd considered being a healer, Eilwyn couldn’t help but be distracted. Rather than pay attention as she knew she should, Eilwyn was watching Alistair indirectly, out of the corner of her eye.

He’d grown more tense around this block, the lanterns casting a heavy shadow upon his brow. Was it just an illusion? A trick of the light, paired with her knowledge of what weighed on his heart? Or was he sensing something she couldn’t?

There were no darkspawn tickles at the back of her mind, none besides the ever-present dull tic of what she knew would be the horde somewhere past Lothering further south. She also had no sense of people who wished to do them harm, no inklings of being snuck up on. But it didn’t mean she didn’t cast a cursory glance around herself every now and again. She hummed noncommittal words back to her senior enchanter, enough to give her a pass for a minimal conversationalist, until Alistair halted completely.

“Everything alright, Alistair, dear?” Wynne asked as she folded her napkin into fourths. She’d finished eating only moments ago, too preoccupied with giving Eilwyn a gentle rundown on basic deflection wards that she’d failed to notice everyone was done eating but her.

“I… um, yes. Pardon me,” he answered, shaking his head. Before she could even flinch, he reached out and grabbed Eilwyn by her elbow to pull her back a few paces. As he did, he nodded at the others over her shoulder. “Only borrowing her for a moment, excuse my interruption.”

“Alistair-”

Eilwyn’s protest was halted by the lintel she came face to face with. A sprig of holly.

_Oh._

“That’s… my sister’s house. I’m almost sure of it.”

Alistair paused, then pulled his journal out. Eilwyn inhaled unconsciously, wondering if its middle pages still smelled of rose petals. He flipped it to a page close to the center, and she could see him squint to read it in the dull light.

“Yes,” he sighed as he glanced back up at the door. “This matches the descriptions we got. Must be the right address. That means she could be inside. Do you see a sign for hours anywhere? No? Me neither.”

He looked up at her, then, with eyes like molten gold in the flickery flames of the strings of paper lanterns lighting up the street above them.

“Could we… go and see if she’s in?” he asked.

“We could,” Eilwyn reached out to where his hand had fallen from her elbow, but he looked too preoccupied and did not return the gesture. Halfway to touching him, Eilwyn changed her mind and drew her hand down to the journal pages instead. A good in-between.

Alistair let out a shaky breath, his eyes once more on the door.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t want to talk to her on your own, though?” Eilwyn asked, and immediately Alistair’s eyes shot to hers in a look of confusion. “I mean, she doesn’t know me and-”

“Well, she doesn’t know me either. Not really,” Alistair said with a scoff.

His words were coming quicker now, and he pulled back the journal from her fingertips with a decisive little yank.

“Why do you ask if I want to go alone, all of a sudden? Do we not have time? Because if we don’t have time then we simply don’t, no use splitting up over it.”

“We have time,” Eilwyn said. “It’s alright. We should go knock.”

“Maybe not,” Alistair answered, then he gave a churlish little snarl. “We can’t, Wynne’s waiting on us, it was very rude of me to stop her mid-conversation with you.”

“But-”

“Zevran’s only going to distract her for so long. Simply won’t do, will it? We’ll have to come back another time.”

“Alistair. Stop for a moment. Breathe.”

He looked at Eilwyn for a brief moment at his name, but didn’t hold her gaze. Instead, he was focused on her shoulder, where she could hear clear footsteps approaching.

“If you two require more privacy, I could retire to my room,” Wynne said, sounding either smug or offended. Eilwyn couldn’t figure out which it was. “I don’t mind.”

“Is this a conversation only for Grey Wardens?” Zevran asked. “Should we be worried?”

“No!” Alistair burst out, just as Eilwyn shook her head and said the same in a calmer tone. She could hear him shuffling to put his journal away, could her him give a bark of a laugh. Seemingly embarrassed, he added, “It’s just an… an errand I’ve been meaning to run, that Eilwyn offered to help with.”

“That sounds very… important,” Wynne said, glancing sideways at Eilwyn down the bridge of her nose. Eilwyn stared straight ahead, determined to give nothing away.

_I didn’t do anything wrong._

“Is this an errand that is not appropriate for older ladies,” Wynne asked lightly, “whose hearts might give out at the slightest provocation?”

Zevran purred as if he hoped dearly that was the case.

“What?” Alistair’s jaw dropped open, and Eilwyn covered her eyes with both her palms at the imagery. “No,” he said hurriedly, “no, no, this… this is my s-sister’s house.”

“Oh,” Wynne said.

Eilwyn expected more, but it did not come. Oddly enough, the senior enchanter was actually looking to her with a more open expression than she’d gotten from Wynne in a long while. Eilwyn couldn’t help it. She narrowed her gaze through her fingertips, hoping that Wynne wouldn’t catch her suspicion. Zevran seemed nonplussed, rather unaffected. His eyes were bright and intelligent, however, and Eilwyn got the sense that he was reading the unspoken as much as he was cataloging the spoken. She was certain he could piece things together.

_Not just sister._

_Estranged sister._

_Stranger of a sister._

_Pull it together, Eilwyn._

After nobody said another word, Eilwyn took a deep breath and dropped her hands. She figured she would have to alleviate this tension somehow, and the only comparison she could make mentally at the moment was of a boil. Best to lance it, if it was to heal.

“It’s up to Alistair whether you two can come in with us or not,” Eilwyn said gently. “Meaning no offense. But it is his affair, not ours.”

“They can stay, it’s fine,” Alistair said, the forced levity finding its way back to his voice. It was like he was trying to bluster that he was amused by this whole thing, but the effect was a strained kind of awkwardness that left her feeling almost irritated.

“Right behind you then, my friend,” Zevran said.

Wynne, seemingly still in shock, said nothing.

“Alright. Are you ready?” Eilwyn asked Alistair.

He nodded, but when she moved forward, he pulled her back with a gentle tug at her elbow. Off-balance, Eilwyn twirled to face him there, wide-eyed, as Alistair paced before her. She sucked a tooth before she knew what she was doing, a small sign of her displeasure at his waffling.

_Not a good habit to pick up from Morrigan._

Alistair glanced up at the noise, and she fixed him with as playful a stare as she could muster.

“I would love to dance with you under normal circumstances,” Eilwyn said, her tone a bit more curt than she’d meant, “but is now really the time?”

He gave a halfhearted chuckle.

“Do I seem a little nervous?”

Before she could answer, her mouth open to say something, Alistair was already talking over her.

“I am. I really don’t know what to expect. Promise you'll stand beside me? You’ve read the list, you know how to keep me from mucking it up, but I need you to promise you'll step in if I need it. If I panic, if I start to raise my ankle mouth-height, you have to be there to put it down again.”

Eilwyn nodded. Did he really think she’d want to back out of it, now that it was right before them?

_Maybe because he wants to, he assumes I do too._

_Or maybe he wants to use me as an excuse not to go._

"I promise."

“Good. Then... no reason to be delaying out here, I suppose,” Alistair said with a shaky sigh, justifying Eilwyn's mental assessment.

He was clenching and unclenching his fists at his thighs, looking very much like he wanted to remove his gauntlets and run his hands up and down his legs to rid them of sweat, as he had done back in his room. When he glanced back down at Eilwyn, his eyes looked positively tortured.

“Maker's breath, why is this so difficult?”

She frowned, feeling a sour mixture of regret and pity well at the roof of her mouth.

_I would want to know if Matthias was alive._

_Alistair needs to do the same, for himself and for his sister._

“It's alright to be nervous. This is…” she inhaled, then let it out slow. “Heavy.”

Alistair grunted, then brought both hands up to shuffle over his face. As if he were splashing cold water on it. When he pulled away, his cheeks were red.

“Let’s see if she’s home at least,” Eilwyn suggested. “Then if she isn’t, we can try again another time, yeah?”

“But,” Alistair looked up at the lanterns and began to pace, “will she even know who I am? Does she even know I exist?” His voice grew quieter, as if he were no longer addressing Eilwyn or the other two compatriots. “My sister. That sounds very strange. ‘Sister’. Siiissster,” he intoned, as if rolling the word about in his mouth would make the entire concept more palatable.

Eilwyn winced from where she was standing and, unable to take it any longer, she reached out and locked her arm with Alistair’s. He stilled, glancing down at her with a furrowed brow. He let out a frantic little hum of a laugh, and she blinked up at him in what she hoped was reassuring confidence.

“Hmm, now I’m babbling,” he said, his hand coming up to cover hers as his elbow bent automatically. A gentleman, by instinct. “Let’s go. Let’s just go.”

“Alright,” Eilwyn said, but when Alistair pulled out towards the street, she directed him to the door.

“I didn’t mean go here-”

“I know what you meant,” she said, her voice quiet but firm. “I’ve got you, Alistair. Your and your feet."

He snorted, and Eilwyn lowered her voice even further.

"You should knock if you want to see her.”

Alistair inhaled, a deep breath that inflated his chest to the fullest. When he let out the air from within, he must have also exhaled a large chunk of his anxiety. He lifted his hand from where it held Eilwyn to his arm, and he knocked.

* * *

Shoved out into the street, her mind reeling, it took a moment for Eilwyn to register what was actually happening.

She felt tears stinging in the corners of her eyes. She felt lightheaded, a bit nauseous too. Getting away from the cloying steam of the soapy water in Goldanna's home was helping her, true, but she felt so weak from what she'd just witnessed. She heard a bolt slam behind her, and then a chain. Unthinkingly, Eilwyn forced her feet to move them all away from the door to Alistair's sister's home.

Nobody said anything. Zevran looked like he wanted to, but Eilwyn made a gesture as she hid her mouth with the back of one hand. It was a sign for him to keep things to himself, for him to let it go. He pursed his lips, but nodded at her and averted his gaze.

Eilwyn then looked in turn to Wynne, but the enchantress seemed to need no such hint. She had a look of stoic composure about her, her shoulders rolled back and her hood in place. She nodded succinctly in Eilwyn’s direction, her expression neutral, and Eilwyn noticed she was not looking at Alistair. As if she meant to spare him the scrutiny.

“Come, Wynne,” Zevran said softly. “I think it is time we returned to the tavern for a nice glass of wine.”

“Indeed,” Wynne answered, as if nothing was wrong. “Lend an old woman your arm, would you kindly?”

“Oh, but of course. Still, I fear you are having me on with this old lady act of yours, as if those bones are not still sprightly-”

Their voices faded into the din of the market, and Eilwyn was left with Alistair alone.

“Well,” he let out a breath, then shifted his weight from hip to hip. “That was… not what I expected. To put it lightly.”

Eilwyn swallowed, trying to control her breathing. The tears had stopped, and she was managing to be silent except for the few sniffling gasps she took here and there. She did not trust herself to speak, however, for all the roiling her thoughts were doing.

_I hate her._

_How could she do this?_

_She was so hurt._

_He tried to fix it._

_I want to help her._

_We can’t do anything._

_I should have saved more money._

_Five children._

Alistair looked up at the night sky, his eyes gleaming as well. Eilwyn’s thoughts cleared, looking at him outside of everything else. The smell of the tallow and almond paste had finally faded from her nostrils, and her head seemed to defog as well. The emotions were still turbulent, choppy, but with every breath outside of that home, Eilwyn felt more balanced.

She reached out and took Alistair's arm in hers. Silently, he allowed Eilwyn to lead him over to a secluded bench out of sight of his sister's home. It was just beyond the main path through the vendors, though in full view of the public just under a magnolia tree outside the Chantry wall. They were two shadows in the night, now, far enough away from Goldanna’s that they could no longer see her door at all. When they sat down, they both exhaled in simultaneous, slumping relief.

Alistair leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, and his head in his hands. After a moment of quiet, Eilwyn placed her palm on the center of his back. Her touch seemed to bolster him at least, because Alistair finally spoke aloud again.

“This…” he shook his head. “This is the family I’ve been wondering about all my life?”

Eilwyn didn’t have an answer. Didn’t know if she needed to give one.

“That shrew is my sister?” Alistair demanded of the dirt, leaning forward for emphasis. “I can’t believe it. The things she said to you... the things she said to me! I had no idea she was so...”

He sighed, hanging his head as he cut off the rest of his words.

“You were raised by a series of good people, you know,” Eilwyn whispered. “It sounds like Goldanna didn’t even have that.”

“And how is that my fault?” Alistair asked, turning to face her with a look of hurt.

“I’m not saying it is,” Eilwyn stammered. “Just that…”

_She said things from a place of hurt._

“Just what?” Alistair asked. “Just that I should be grateful for the loneliness I felt, because I could have been lonelier?”

Eilwyn paused, trying to wrangle her thoughts.

“No,” she breathed. “I wish you’d never been lonely at all.”

Alistair seemed to remember himself. His mouth dropped open, as if his brain had only just now caught up to what he’d said to her. He gave a groan and held his head in his hands once more.

“Eilwyn, I…” he sighed. “I’m sorry. This moment isn’t... I'm not sure how to feel about it all.”

He grunted in frustration at his own admission and looked up at the market. The shadow of the magnolia tree made it so that Eilwyn couldn’t read his expression, couldn’t tell what he was thinking. From his posture he looked tense, rigid, like he was focused on trying to make himself smaller in the wake of such a disastrous, explosive confrontation.

Hesitant, her hand shaking, Eilwyn brought her fingers to the nape of Alistair’s neck. He flinched, at first, probably because her digits were normally rather cold. The chill of the autumn air couldn’t have helped their poor cirulation, they must have been like ice. But rather than taking her hand away, she flexed her fingers and threaded them through Alistair’s hair. A soothing, gentle scratch along the back of his scalp, a caress she hoped could convey some semblance of healing.

_Maker knows I don’t have the words._

After no more than a couple of seconds, Alistair relaxed under her palm, the tension fleeing his shoulders as Eilwyn continued to pet him. After a moment, she scooted closer to him on the bench. Shuffling a bit so that he could cross his arms over his own chest, Alistair settled his head on her shoulder as she continued to comb her fingers gently over his scalp, and together they faced out towards the warm, orange glow of the market square.

_Funny._

_This is exactly the opposite of how we sat telling stories but a few nights ago._

_Feels very different now, in this moment._

Together, they watched people mill about by the different stands. This part of the market where they were in sold fabrics, decorations, toys, and other such fare. Nothing they needed, but pretty distractions regardless. They were far enough away that the warmth of the crowds and the flames from the lighting did not reach them, but the smells and faint conversations did. It was pleasant.

Or, it would have been in any other circumstances.

It felt as if but a few minutes had passed, but from the way the food vendors were shouting out for final orders, maybe they’d been sitting here longer. There was a fatigue deep in her bones, one that felt familiar and poisonous. It felt like the nothingness she'd clung to after Kinloch, the empty numbness she'd suffered through in the wake of her conversation with Cullen. Eilwyn shifted, readjusting her shoulder so that Alistair’s weight didn’t make her whole arm fall asleep.

“Do you regret going?” Eilwyn asked as they resettled.

Alistair shrugged.

“I don’t know yet."

They were quiet for another moment, but just as Eilwyn opened her mouth to speak, Alistair beat her to it.

"Do… you regret finding Cullen as you did?” he asked. "Back at the Circle?"

Eilwyn froze. She hadn’t considered that in a while now, and she expected the ache to have dulled. Part of her was amazed that Alistair's mind had even strayed to that territory, but it still hurt, in a cracked, sharp corner of her soul.

“Yes,” she answered after a moment’s contemplation, when she was certain it wasn’t a rhetorical question. “But I also think it was for the best, now that I’ve had time to think about it. Maybe it can be both a regret and a necessity?”

Alistair huffed.

“I’m still on the ‘I wish I’d never come in the first place’ stage, I suppose.”

“I didn’t just skip that stage myself, you know,” Eilwyn murmured.

She recalled the feeling of climbing into bed beside a sleepy Alistair. Of waking up with his even breathing at her side, right when she’d felt the most empty after seeing her Circle broken. He’d been there when she was in that place, had pulled her out of it. His steady, fluttering snores had been her metronome, his heat her sense of security. She could never have healed so quickly from such desolation had he not smiled at her and told her she was welcome at his side.

Did he even realize?

Alistair made a little noise and shook his head briefly against her shoulder.

“I hate knowing that you felt like this,” he muttered. "That you felt worse."

Eilwyn fell silent, at a loss.

“I…” Alistair stopped, then tried once more. “I guess I was expecting her to accept me without question. Isn’t that what family is supposed to do?”

The memory of lilypads returned to her, the scent of burnt hair, the feeling of scabs on her scalp and Templar hands shielding her from her father’s brusque shove.

“You would think,” Eilwyn whispered against his hair.

“Yeah…”Alistair paused, then blurted, “I feel like a complete idiot.”

Eilwyn rested her cheek on the top of his head for a moment, her hand stilling.

“The things she said,” Eilwyn whispered. “They were uncalled for. You are not to blame for your mother’s death, nor for Goldanna’s suffering, nor for her inability to accept you. I don’t think you were wrong to seek her out.”

Alistair shuffled closer to her, and she reached out to grab one of his hands. He had to uncross his arms in the process, and he slumped even heavier against her side as he did so. As soon as she touched his palm, he opened it to thread his fingers with hers. An instinct, perhaps. But he did not squeeze back. His grip was limp, and Eilwyn wondered if she wasn’t making things worse by holding him to her.

It was so hard to tell when to touch, when not to. But she did not pull away.

“I know how it feels to want a family who loves you, Alistair,” Eilwyn whispered. “Believe me, I do.”

She dragged her thumb over the shiny metal knuckles of his gauntlet, feeling its chill. Dimly, she could see the base of her fingernails begin to glow. Gritting her teeth against the swell of anxiety within her breast, Eilwyn held Alistair tighter to her side.

“But you don’t need someone like Goldanna in your life just because she shares your blood. You have others who care about you. Others who aren’t going to make you feel bad just because they’re angry at the injustice in the world.”

“Such as?” he asked dully. His voice was soft, now. Non-combative. As if he was growing sleepy, or maybe the pain had finally set in deep. “The only person who ever cared about me was Duncan. And he’s gone.”

Eilwyn closed her eyes to the emptiness in his voice.

_What is this feeling?_

_Bigger than myself, stronger than fear, my heart is pounding so loud._

“I know it’s not… it’s not the same as Duncan,” she whispered. “But you… you must…”

Eilwyn withheld a gasp, but barely, her heart leaping into her throat as her brain finally admitted in not so many words just how much Alistair meant to her. A series of split-second images, memories of the way he teased her over supper, the way he listened intently when Leliana told her stories, the wrestling with McWhistle. Alistair was her support, her dearest friend, and someone who made her feel strong and powerful without being feared. The way he looked at her was always bright and kind, the way he touched her was gentle and comfortable. He never flinched from her open palm, never ducked back from her spells, and he called her by her first name. He made her feel...

_Loved._

“I must what?” Alistair mumbled. He didn’t seem to be really paying attention, seemed to still be numb to this, but at his voice she could not help but blurt what was on her mind.

“I care about you,” Eilwyn whispered. 

Alistair raised himself up from where he’d been leaning on her shoulder. He opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something, but nothing came out. Facing him like this, in the dark, Eilwyn felt treacherously close to tears again; they were both so raw, flayed and vulnerable in their own ways, and she could not risk confessing much more. Before Alistair could say anything, she slid her arms about his shoulders and pulled him into a tight hug.

“No questions asked,” she muttered, her words muffled against his shoulder.

She could feel his arms immediately bring her closer, one about her shoulders, the other lower on her spine. He squeezed, finally, as if he were coming back to himself after the experience with his sister. Eilwyn fisted one hand loosely in his hair, biting back her shivers as best she could, and Alistair sighed against the curve of her neck.

“Thank you,” he said, and even though it was quiet, it sounded almost as if he was surprised to hear her admit such a thing out loud. He gave a slow sigh. “For what it’s worth, I’m glad you came with me. Even though a part of me wishes you hadn't been subjected to it.”

“I know what you mean. We had more of an audience than we needed for that,” she muttered before she could help herself.

Luckily, Alistair gave a helpless little laugh, and his arms tightened about her almost imperceptibly.

“I had forgotten about Zevran and Wynne,” he admitted. “You were there. That’s what mattered to me.”

His voice was so small, so different from the way he usually spoke, that Eilwyn frowned into his pauldron despite the praise. He felt so good, yet so distant. Nothing like how he’d felt in his room only a couple of hours prior. The way he’d held her then, maybe it was because there wasn’t plate separately them, but it had felt so deeply connected that it had almost blinded her with need.

This… was support. They were holding one another because to be otherwise alone would hurt too much. Not that that was a bad thing, but it wasn’t the same as how they'd been before. For a brief moment of panic, Eilwyn wondered if this was to be the new normal for a while. Would she have to endure this in order to let Alistair heal, or could she close the gap?  Even in all of her inexperience, even without the ability to pinpoint exactly why this embrace was different from the other one, could still feel the space between them stretch on. It ate at her from the inside.

They stayed like that for a few minutes longer, until Eilwyn could no longer ignore the bite of the autumn air. Pressed against the chilled metal of Alistair's chest plate, it was even colder. She gave a deep tremble, one that went from the tip of her head to her toes, and Alistair pulled back as if she’d flinched from something he’d done.

“Maker’s breath, you must be freezing,” he said. “Here, stand up. Let’s go.”

“I like sitting here,” Eilwyn answered, past chattering teeth.

_Alone with you._

“I can see that, magelet. You're positively vibrating with glee,” Alistair said, sarcasm painting his words as she shivered hard a second time. “But you would like sitting where it’s warm even more. Up you go.”

His arms still about her waist, he stood up with Eilwyn still flush against his chest. She swayed for a moment, unsteady on her feet, but Alistair dropped his hands from her body when they began to walk out from under the magnolia tree. He stepped a few paces ahead of her, taking the longer way back to the tavern. The way that meant they would not have to pass by a lintel with a holly sprig tacked onto it.

Fearful she might lose him, in every sense of the word, Eilwyn reached out and caught his elbow as he moved to the side of a trinket stall.

“Alistair, wait. Are you-”

“Let’s just go, Eilwyn,” he said, turning to her as they dipped back into the bustle and flow of the market crowds. “I don’t really want to talk about this anymore.”

“Oh. R-right,” Eilwyn said. She dropped her hand away from him and bit her lip, anxiety flaring briefly like a spark of lightning in her chest. “Sorry,” she said, more because she couldn’t help but apologize than the thought that he could even hear her.

Alistair did not reply, and for the first time that day as Eilwyn swerved in and out of the throng of people, she did not feel his hand at the small of her back when they separated. For the first time in recent memory, Alistair walked beside her in complete silence, closed off from her, and too far for her to reach even though he was only arm’s length away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You will absolutely never guess how long this chapter was when I first wrote it last week. I trimmed it down like this, to about five pages' worth, go on. Guess.
> 
> The stuff I cut wasn't pulled out because I didn't like it. I loved it. But it felt like something that should be told from Alistair's perspective, not Eilwyn's. It read like a transcript even with my changes, because she was just a witness and not experiencing the pain of it. Not to mention, it added a good chunk of time and reading to the story that I just didn't feel super pulled to add.
> 
> I'm keeping it in my folders, if you're interested to read another Alistair one-shot, I'd be down to rewrite it from his POV. But for now, this chapter contains that big time-skip in order to allow the feelings between our two peeps to truly get put out there.
> 
> Also... I played the game this way accidentally. I didn't visit Denerim until after the Circle and Redcliffe quests were finished, and until after Eilwyn was in a relationship with Alistair. So all of this coming up later than usual is canon to my playthrough. Going to Goldanna so much later in the relationship changes a few of his responses in a really sweet way, oh ho my heart ~
> 
> Okay end ramble. Let me know if you have opinions on this, one way or the other! I personally feel relieved haha. What about you?


	21. Familiar Melodies

Rather than spending time up in her own bedroom, Eilwyn found herself in the common room after returning to the tavern.

She and Alistair had parted ways immediately to go to their separate rooms in order to change from their armor, and for a brief moment she’d thought he was going to talk to her. He’d paused, his hand on the door handle.

But he’d merely been struggling with the lock, it seemed. Once it had clicked open, he’d entered his room without a word to her and she’d heard him draw the chain. Eilwyn had changed as quickly and as quietly as possible; the idea of being only separated from a distraught Alistair by a thin wall was too much to bear. Her urge to pound on the door, to ask him if she could fix it, to beg to talk out his emotions, was a difficult one to ignore.

_Stop. You’ll drive him away._

Once she’d divested herself of her robes, pulled on an oversized tunic and changed her leggings, Eilwyn had grabbed up a book from her pack and had slipped away before she could lose control. As she'd walked past Alistair’s room, she hadn’t even allowed herself to listen out for him; she'd cleared her throat as she strode past, an unconscious noise that had distracted her enough to get by.

The common room had appealed to her because it was close enough to people to soothe her nerves, but far enough away from the din of boisterous patrons that she could drown out specifics. When she turned into it from the stairwell, she finally breathed a sigh of relief. The smell of cedar, mulled wine, and some sort of pumpkin tart pervaded the air. The crackle from the fire was a nice, soothing background noise, as well as a few cards being shuffled in the back corner as people played what looked like Diamondback.

The white noise of the tavern was calming from this distance, and it seemed she wasn’t the only one who thought so. Curled up on a sofa by the fire, with McWhistle and a series of maps strewn about her person, was Leliana.

As soon as the mabari caught sight of Eilwyn, he leapt up and stumbled over to her, his whole body wagging with pleasure. He was making pathetic, eager whines, and Eilwyn knelt in order to hug him as he licked frantically over her face.

“He missed you,” Leliana said as Eilwyn sputtered to breathe past McWhistle’s snuffles.

“I was only gone a couple of hours!”

McWhistle gave a sharp little yip at that, as if two hours was too much, and proceeded to climb onto Eilwyn’s lap.

“So heavy!” Eilwyn grunted, falling to the floor as her dog situated himself atop her. “You are not a chicken, and I’m not an egg,” she wheezed, “so get _off_.”

McWhistle flopped harder against her, as if he knew precisely what he was doing, and Eilwyn folded into giggles.

“How did everything go?” Leliana asked, gathering her papers together. “Wynne said you had something important to take care of with Alistair.”

“Oh, fine,” Eilwyn lied, trying to ignore how the words felt on her tongue. “What have you got there?”

Leliana was too sharp not to notice the obvious deflection, but it seemed she was also too kind to point it out.

“I have been researching where to find this Brother Genitivi. Also, I took the liberty of taking some odd jobs from the Chanter’s Board, I thought maybe we could take a look together and decide which you’d like to accept?”

"Must we?"

"It would aid our reputation around the city exponentially. I'd highly recommend we look into a couple while we're in the area."

_Be nice._

_We've got one more night here before we move on._

_We can do it all._

“You're right. Let's see them, then,” Eilwyn said.

McWhistle, clearly put out that she was no longer talking to him, adjusted himself with a long groan so that his face was squished against’s Eilwyn’s cheek.

“You are so needy!” she groaned, and the dog gave yet another happy grunt in response.

The night progressed, time passing sluggishly as Eilwyn tried to distract herself from her thoughts. Once Leliana had walked her through various missives from the Chantry that Eilwyn chose to volunteer her time for, once she had outlined a plan for the following morning, Eilwyn wondered if she shouldn’t go to bed. She probably could use the sleep, but she felt no desire to.

Plus, on top of everything, she wasn’t sure she could force her mind to be calm. Knowing that Alistair was not alright was keeping her mind working.

Instead of moving, she read her book in comfortable silence as Leliana compared the cost of crafting new armor versus paying what a man named Wade asked for it. She would mutter numbers to herself as she did so, flipping through pages, and she had a little charcoal stick she marked with. Pretty soon, Eilwyn didn’t even notice the noises. Just as she’d hoped, everything became a lovely din of protective white noise. Soon, she was wrapped up in the tale of a handmaiden in love with a duke, their romance a terrible and beautiful secret.

After Eilwyn got through several chapters, when the patrons out in the dining area began to lull into quieter conversations, Leliana went and grabbed her lute. She sat across the cushions with one leg thrown over one arm of the chair, her elbow relaxed on the other, and hummed a little ditty Eilwyn thought she recognized. It must have been a new melody for the former bard, however, because Leliana spent time tuning and retuning as she practiced what must have been only the first verse.

“So tell me,” Leliana said, her voice quiet and easygoing. “I know that look. You have something on your mind, don’t you?”

She must have caught on that Eilwyn had bookmarked her page with her thumb, must have seen out of the corner of her eye that Eilwyn was wistfully watching the way Leliana’s fingernails plucked at the strings.

“It’s… nothing,” Eilwyn said, feeling foolish.

“Oh, is it?” Leliana murmured. “My mistake, I thought that glint meant more than nothing. Well. Should you need an ear, you should know that I am here.”

Eilwyn snorted.

“Was the rhyme on purpose?”

“Ha, that was a rhyme, wasn’t it?” Leliana giggled. “Maybe the melody forced out something akin to a lyric. Such is the way of music, I suppose.”

She glanced up and gave Eilwyn a smile.

“Do not feel pressured, silly girl, I am merely joking.”

Eilwyn sighed, the appellation actually more dear to her heart than she wanted to admit.

“Okay,” she resituated herself where she was sitting cross-legged on the floor. "I want to talk. I do."

The rug was warm and by the fire, and McWhistle had stopped being as clingy. He’d adjusted to where only his heavy skull was relaxed in deep sleep against Eilwyn’s thigh. As she flexed to move, he brought up a paw to her knee as if to keep her still. Eilwyn set one hand on his ears and lifted her book with the other.

“You’ve read this one before,” she stated, and Leliana nodded.

“Twice, before I lent it to you. And now, look, you are practically finished. Will you be picking up the next volume while we’re in town?”

“Oh, if I can find if, of course!” Eilwyn said immediately, her demeanor shifting to giddiness without her permission. “It’s magical! I keep checking how many pages are left, praying they have time for the wedding!”

“I agree,” Leliana grinned. “I adore its descriptions. The way the author talks about her shoes, and her hair, and the drawing room…” she gave a winsome little sigh, and Eilwyn giggled. “You must let me know how you find the final chapters. Which part are you at now, are you almost finished?”

“They’ve just barely begun to hold hands beneath the table at the masquerade ball,” Eilwyn said, and her cheeks felt warm. “The midnight treasure hunt is about to begin, and the countess still hasn't put together who is who. The maid's secret is safe!”

It was her favorite scene so far. The reader knew the duke was planning on proposing once they had stolen away to the center of the hedge-maze on his property, but the handmaiden did not. She was so focused on not blowing her cover amidst the nobles that she barely had time to breathe. It was all dreadfully romantic, and Eilwyn wanted nothing more than to read about their love made physical.

But she was also very contented to wait. Even talking about how they held hands made her cheeks feel all aglow.

“Then you are definitely going to enjoy what comes next, in the garden,” Leliana said mischievously. As if to emphasize her point, she strummed a little riff in her lute and cocked an eyebrow at Eilwyn in the dim light of the fire.

She laughed again. She couldn’t help it. Leliana relaxed, as if the noise was a comfort to her.

“Well…” Eilwyn twisted her lips. “I wanted to ask you about that actually.”

“I will not spoil the naughty bits for you,” Leliana said firmly. “As captivating as it is to speak with you of such things, it goes against my moral code as a storyteller.”

“No, no,” Eilwyn smiled down at the book, then rested it gently against McWhistle’s forehead. “I wanted to know how, um, accurate it was.”

“The… book in general?” Leliana asked. "Or the naughty bits?"

Eilwyn looked up and gave a tightlipped smile.

_Haven't gotten to the naughty bits, thanks._

“The book. The romance, the progression. The love, I guess?”

“Ah.” Leliana began to strum out the tune again, her fingers moving easily and slowly over the different chords. She was looking off across the room, and it seemed as if she was deciding how to respond.

“I want to know,” Eilwyn murmured, “when you’re supposed to know. In real life, I mean. When- how does one even know?”

“That one is in love?” Leliana asked.

Eilwyn nodded, and her friend’s eyes returned to hers.

“This is not a question that anyone can answer for you, dear friend,” Leliana said, her voice soothing.

The melody Leliana was playing behind it, Eilwyn could almost place it, the strings haunting and beautiful and sad. It itched at her mind, like the foggy remnants of a dream upon waking.

“But I think there are some signs we all experience, when we love truly and deeply. Shall I list some for you?”

“Are they the same as in the book?” Eilwyn asked.

“Mmm, yes and no,” Leliana said. “There are some physical responses at times, and the book does them well. A quick heartbeat, warm skin, eagerness in our nerve endings, no? That is accurate enough, in my experience. Emotionally… now that is trickier.”

Eilwyn sighed.

“In reality,” Leliana continued, “our thoughts are rarely experienced so clearly and succinctly. We rarely think to ourselves ‘yes I am in love now’, at least in my experience. We, as people, merely feel. And then feel some more. And then suddenly we’ve been feeling so much for someone that it’s progressed without our realization.”

_Sounds… familiar._

Eilwyn tried not to look as if she was thinking of anything in particular, but her mind conjured an image of Alistair when she’d first met him, with the way he’d made her laugh so that she wouldn’t cry. She’d looked up to him as her senior. Then, she had grown to respect him as her compatriot. They’d grown to be friends through horrible things, they had been there for one another because nobody else was.

_And now it’s something more._

“So that is not accurate in this book,” Leliana stated primly, pointing with her nose to where Eilwyn was still holding the book to McWhistle’s temple. “When the author tells you that our maiden is in love, they are telling you outright that she knows. They are telling us, because it feels good for us to know… and also because this author’s style is omniscient and allows them this.”

Eilwyn frowned, feeling a bit like she was getting a literature lecture.

_Who invited you, Wynne?_

Even though she hadn't said the mean-spirited joke aloud, Eilwyn bit her lip with an ounce of shame.

“Sometimes, you do not know," Leliana continued, unaware. "Sometimes, it is a surprise. One day you realize that you would do anything for this person, would weather any storm, would lift them up with all your strength, would do things that frighten you and excite you, and it is like realizing you have had blue eyes all your life.”

Eilwyn shot Leliana a puzzled little glare.

“I don’t understand,” she said.

“You do not understand the feeling, or the metaphor?” Leliana murmured, tilting her head to one side.

“Why would I not realize my eyes were blue?” she asked. “I would be seeing them all the time. I would know what color they were.”

“True. You look in the mirror and see your eyes every day, in every reflective surface. But let us say that the color was never of particular interest to you, and you always thought they were sort of grey. Unimportant, this little thing, but it is a fact you had in your mind nonetheless. Imagine it now for me, if you please.”

“Okay,” Eilwyn gave McWhistle a lazy scratch behind his ear as she sighed. She lifted the book from his face and set it on the floor pages down, its spine opened to her last read page. She leaned back on one hand, relaxing into her hips as she did so. With a sigh, she tried to imagine that she thought her eyes were grey.

Leliana seemed pleased, and she gave her head a little nod.

“One day, the light hits you just right, and maybe you are wearing a blouse that accentuates the darkness about your pupil, or maybe you are faced with a cleaner surface than you’ve ever looked into before. Suddenly, you realize how bright your eyes truly are. How saturated in a way you’ve never seen them shine before. How beautifully, unequivocally blue they are.”

Leliana quieted, allowing her fingers to play over the lute to fill her pause.

“This is what love is, in my opinion. Any great love, whether it be from a parent, or a paramour, or the Maker himself, is like this. It hits you the same as a realization of something you knew about yourself all along… an admission that changes nothing, but one that gives you deeper meaning nonetheless.”

Eilwyn sat there, letting it sink in, as Leliana plucked out the melody more confidently. She’d fine-tuned the lute to where its strings were finally in an appropriate key, and she began to hum soft lyrics to the tune without saying them aloud. With both harmonies working together, Eilwyn finally recognized the song.

She had never heard it without the lyrics. That was why it hadn’t caught her ear. She’d heard it only sung aloud, accompanied by no instruments, and so it had sat at the edge of her memories up until Leliana had begun to murmur the melody.

_How does she know this?_

It had been years since Eilwyn had heard it, back when she was just a child in the Circle. There had been a kind Templar at Kinloch, right when Eilwyn was taken from her family, who loved dearly to sing. He’d taught some of the apprentices hymns when there were lulls in their studies, had been the first to morning services, and when storms rolled in over the lake he’d stood by the windows humming this tune.

He’d been sent away when Eilwyn was fifteen years old. The loss was one she hadn’t felt for years, but the song brought it all back in an instant.

_Apple tree._

_I remember one verse was about an apple tree._

Little Eilwyn had wept bitterly over the kind Templar’s absence. She’d had no idea why he’d gone, had not had a chance to ask him, and Eilwyn had not heard this song since. For two years, a few shifts had been made within the ranks of Templars at Kinloch, but none affected Eilwyn so harshly as the Templar who sang. She had used the quiet to immerse herself in her studies, and two years after his loss, she’d found that a new Templar had caught her eye.

Eager to please, this new boy had been pious and gallant and nervous. And as young as her. Eilwyn had gradually healed, her heart reaching out to this new kind of love, and the rest was history at this point.

_No other Templars memorized his songs._

_After he left, it was like everyone forgot about him._

_Even me._

The song itself was a sad one. About a girl taken too young, sung by her grieving beloved who had been left behind to mourn her.

_I remember his voice._

_His name was O’Connor._

_He was kind to me._

Eilwyn wondered where Leliana learned this song, if she could ask her to sing the lyrics. Before she could say anything, she realized she was close to tears.

_Not out of sadness, though._

_Something else._

_And it’s not bad, but it’s not good, and-_

_Andraste’s arse, I’m so tired of feeling so much at once!_

Turning to the fire, she gave a helpless scoff. McWhistle perked a velvety ear beneath her hand, tuning into her noises without waking, and Eilwyn leaned down to press a kiss to the wrinkled fur at his forehead. His rump waggled, even though his eyes stayed closed, and she looked back at her friend.

“That’s beautiful, you know,” Eilwyn whispered. “If that’s what love really is.”

“It can be, if you want it to be.”

Eilwyn shot her a glance, her brow furrowing, and Leliana chuckled low in her throat.

“Do not look so petulant,” Leliana said to her, the words almost tender over the haunting melody of the lute. “Love truly can be whatever you want it to be, Eilwyn. You don’t need to seek its definition from outside sources. You just need to decide for yourself if you feel it or not, and that will be enough.”

Satisfied with that final line, Leliana relaxed back into the chair and closed her eyes. She continued playing the soft tune, continued humming along to it as her foot swung out its rhythm, until Eilwyn decided to return to her book for lack of anything to retort with.

As Eilwyn stared at the pages, the words blurred before her very eyes. Her mind was overrun with what she’d seen today, what she was forced to remember, but then Leliana's words caught her heart.

_Feel, if I want to. Or don't, if I don't want to._

_And it will be enough._

Eilwyn took a deep breath and held it, forcing her mind to be free of the memories of the day. No longer did she have Goldanna's barbs in the back of her mind. No longer did she focus on the way Alistair's face had crumbled at her accusing pointer finger hitting his chest. No longer did she center around the pain and loneliness. All thoughts, conscious thoughts and definitions, faded gradually as she let out her breath in a long, slow exhale. She continued to lull herself this way, a meditation of sorts, until she was faintly aware of being almost asleep.

_Alistair._

She remembered a dream. Water, swimming, entangling with him, he was hers. A dream she'd had before, when she'd thought herself in love, but this one was different. This one felt cleaner, more genuine, more real. Her name on his lips, it felt nothing like an admonishment; her name in the water, in his kiss, had been a prayer. Summer longings, desires to be closer to her warrior than she knew she would be allowed to, yearnings for his touch and his smile and _him_ , had all been pushed down as grief took their place. The Circle, her stupidity, her absence... Eilwyn's heart had had no room.

But the feelings were still there when she fell into them once more, protected, like tiny robin's eggs nestled in twigs and feathers.

_Blue._

* * *

She woke up curled up with McWhistle on the floor. Her mind felt languid and cottony, and she didn't know how long she'd been asleep for. Maybe a few minutes, maybe longer. She stretched, picked up her book from where her dog had his big paw on the front cover, and moved to go to bed. When Eilwyn got to her feet, however, Leliana insisted on standing to hug her.

“Mmm, you stayed up?” Eilwyn asked, even as she squeezed her friend close. "Just to tell me goodnight?"

"No, not just."

"Then why?"

“I am not sure,” Leliana answered. “I just felt like you might need someone nearby.”

Eilwyn held her tighter for a moment, then the two women let go simultaneously. With a little wave of thanks, Eilwyn headed off to the stairs, a sleepy McWhistle loping along at her heels.

When she rounded the top of the stairs to get to her room, something pinged in her mind, an awareness, a sense of something out of place. Immediately on alert, she noticed a shadow to her left. Without thinking, she held her hand palm down and pulled her mana into a ball of lightning as she lunged towards her would-be attacker.

The flash, the crack of electricity in the air, and the way Eilwyn lunged into a protective stance, were all enough to make a man flinch back against the opposite wall as she advanced upon him.

“Wait!” he hissed. “Woah, woah-”

“A… Alistair?”

Eilwyn dropped her hand and her mana, plunging them both back into darkness. She paused once, then reached out and smacked both hands against his chest. He grunted with what sounded like a chuckle, but Eilwyn didn’t let him talk before she grabbed his elbow and gave it a petulant tug.

“What are you thinking, sneaking about in the middle of the night!”

“Hey, I could ask you the same thing,” he accused in a fierce whisper of his own. His hand caught her hand and brushed it off of his arm. “You don’t even have a candle with you!"

"I'm my own walking candle, why don't you have one!"

"I can see really well in the dark, thank you. Blessed with great eyesight. You, you don't even have your magelights out, how did you see well enough not to trip up the stairs?”

“Saw you well enough, didn't I?” Eilwyn shot back. “If I’d been an assassin, what would you have done?”

“Thrown you like I did the last time you scared me half to death!”

They paused, both of them realizing the other was right, and Eilwyn found her voice in the awkward, almost funny aftermath.

“I guess we’re even, now,” she muttered, trying to hold back the nervous giggle threatening to well up in her chest.

“Not even close,” he breathed back. “It wasn’t my intention to frighten you, not like how you jumped me at the campfire.”

“If you weren't trying to scare me then what… Alistair, why are you sneaking out of your room in the middle of the night?” Eilwyn asked.

He cleared his throat, and she thought she might’ve seen him shrug, but he didn’t answer.

“Are you alright, did you need something?” she pried.

“Need?” Alistair asked, then laughed as if it was a little joke. “No, I mean. Not really. Um.”

Eilwyn frowned in the dark. Frustrated that she couldn’t see him, elated that he was even near her, she cast a flurry of magelights into the hallway above them, illuminating Alistair just as he nervously ran his hand over his face. This time, as if knowing it was Eilwyn made him unafraid of the magic, Alistair did not flinch.

“I, uh,” he looked down at her, his eyes heavy. “I couldn’t sleep.”

“Oh.” Eilwyn bit her lip, her heart fit to bursting with how it accelerated its pace.

_A quick heartbeat._

She searched for something, anything, to say to calm it down.

“Leliana’s downstairs playing some music, if you want to-”

“I didn’t sneak out looking for Leliana,” Alistair interrupted softly.

“You…”

She hesitated, not wanting to read into his tone, his emphasis.

_Not Leliana. But someone?_

Her neck was growing flushed, she could feel it. Even in the poor lighting, she wondered if she had gone pink with pleasure, if she seemed feverish with this mixture of delight and hesitance.

_Warm skin._

“Are you heading to bed, then?” Alistair asked.

“I, um,” Eilwyn stammered past what she wanted to say, her lips clumsy. “No. I mean yes, to the bed _room_ but not the _bed_ necessarily. I was going to read a bit. Downstairs was just…”

She looked up at him in the dim light, smiling instinctively as their eyes met.

_He's beautiful when he looks at me like that._

_That knowing look._

_Wait..._

_What was I saying?_

Eilwyn fluttered her lashes, trying to blink back her thoughts into a proper order, a more appropriate order. She delicately cleared her throat.

“Distracting.”

“Ah, ha. I see,” he exhaled, like she’d caught him off guard.

Had he noticed her pause? Had he seen in her expression just how drawn she was to him? She wanted to ask if he was alright again, see if he was actually okay, to make him feel less alone if she was capable of it. Alistair swallowed hard.

“Would you… mind staying up with me a bit?”

Eilwyn drew her lower lip in, biting it gently as she frowned.

“I, ah," she stuttered, her words ineffective against the pull she had towards him. "I don't mind. But... are you truly alright?"

She brought her hand up like she was going to touch him, but then did not. Instead, she brought her fist to the center of her own chest and rested her knuckles loosely against her own sternum. She felt her heart pound against her ribs, against the fabric. She looked up at Alistair with unabashed affection, the dark hallway giving her confidence.

"Should I be worried about you?"

“No, I’m fine, really,” Alistair looked away, casting his gaze down the hallway like he was searching for potential eavesdroppers. His jaw clenched once, then he turned back to her with a look of reservation about his eyes. “I’ve had a few hours to myself. Thought about some things. And my mind kept coming back to all that you said today, and all that you are."

"All I am?"

"Yes." He smiled, like he was embarrassed, then whispered, " _To me_ , I should have said. I've been thinking about all that you are to me."

Eilwyn hardly knew what to say. She wanted to say something, but she was frozen in place, hope blossoming fervently in her chest as Alistair stammered on.

"If you want to stay awake with me for a while yet, I thought we could… talk.” Alistair closed his eyes, as if he was bracing himself. “If it’s too late for such things, I don't mind at all, you just say the word and I'll go force myself to sleep. Maybe slam my head against the bedpost a few times, knock myself out real good.”

He opened his eyes and gave a feeble huff at the poor attempt to joke, and McWhistle whined low in his throat.

But Eilwyn wasn’t aware of the failed humor. She felt like she could barely inhale. Her breaths stayed shallow, floating atop her lungs, light and airy. Her skin was warm despite the draft on the second floor, and her body seemed magnetically drawn to Alistair’s. It took effort not to reach out to him, to touch him on his arm or his wrist. It took effort to stay apart.

_Eagerness in our nerve endings._

“McWhistle,” Eilwyn whispered. "Come."

The mabari gave a snuffle, and she snapped her fingers in the direction of her room. He followed her over while she unlocked it and let him inside. The fireplace in her room was barely orange, a dim glow that had knocked the chill from the air at least.

“Go lie down,” she said.

McWhistle obeyed, moving over to where she’d laid blankets down by the fire for him. He looked up at her, as if expecting her to come into the room too.

“I’m going to be next door,” she whispered. “I’ll leave the door unlocked, and cracked. Keep an ear out, okay? I’ll call you if I need you.”

McWhistle gave a growly yip in response, then relaxed down onto his paws by the fire. Satisfied he would be alright, Eilwyn cracked her door and turned back to Alistair.

“Alright,” she said softly, hoping the terror and yearning and excitement didn’t show in her voice. “I’m all yours.”

Alistair let out a breath at that. He moved forward, pushing his door open, and before she could question anything further, Eilwyn followed him inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Leliana hums and strums is an Irish poem called "I am stretched on your grave". It was written anonymously in the 17th century, and the singing Templar's name is a nod to the most well-known of its translators, Frank O'Connor. The cool thing about this is that the melody changes depending on what group or singer decides to take and interpret the lyrics. I like [this melody](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=57zrFRZlySE) so much, however, that I'm linking it here even though it doesn't have much of a lute background ;)
> 
> Also, you are welcome for not titling this chapter "what is love" and having the only author's notes be "baby don't hurt me". I was this close. Runner up was "feel or do not feel, there is no try" but that was even lamer.
> 
> I will show myself out.


	22. Deeper Confessions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧ Cliffhanger-free zone...  
> ...  
> ...  
> Kinda.

It was difficult to know what to do with her hands. At first, Eilwyn wrung them in front of herself as Alistair closed the door. She noticed that he did not lock it, a detail that struck her as kind.

_He doesn’t like to box me in._

_Even when he stands close, he only touches where I touch._

At the thought, Eilwyn felt her cheeks warm.

She walked over to where he had a small oil lamp burning by his bedside, and she took in his room once more. His armor was off in the corner by the window, stacked neatly with rags between them to protect them as they were stored. The pane was cracked, enough for there to be a slight bite to the air, but not enough to make her shiver. Not like how it had been outside in the market.

There were a few things on the desk, some papers and books opened to a few pages, and a pile of what looked like coin. On the bedside table there was a hand towel tossed haphazardly and a porcelain bowl of water. The sheets and duvet were still made, nary an indent on the bed at all.

_What has he been doing for the last few hours?_

_Not sleeping._

“You can sit there, if you want,” Alistair said, gesturing to the bed. “There’s an armchair by the fireplace, but it went out and I haven't bothered to relight it yet.”

"Do you want me to...?"

Eilwyn wriggled her fingers suggestively towards the fire, and Alistair laughed.

"No, I'm a bit too warm as it is, actually."

"Oh. Well then, we don't need it, that's fine."

He was hovering by the door, Eilwyn realized. He hadn’t moved nearer to her, and he looked as if he had no inclination to. She obeyed him for lack of anything better to do, moving in order to sit at the foot of the bed facing out towards the room.

“So, what about you?”

“Me?”

“Aren’t you going to sit, too?” she asked as she folded her trembling fingers together in her lap.

Alistair swallowed, glancing over at her as if the thought had not occurred to him.

“Yes. It would be better if I… um… is beside you alright?”

Eilwyn felt her cheeks flush hot, but she nodded. Just the idea of Alistair’s proximity sent waves of eagerness rushing through her veins. She was dizzy with it, with how much she wanted him near her. It felt wildly adult and yet childish all at once, leaving her spinning in the wake of such a contradiction.

Alistair cleared his throat, jarring Eilwyn from her thoughts, and sat next to her on the bed.

Their thighs weren’t touching, but Eilwyn grit her teeth anyway.

“Do you need more light? Is that why you asked about the fire?” Alistair asked. “The lamp doesn’t do much to cut the dark. Probably need to refill the oil.”

“I’m fine like this,” she said, glancing up at him through her lashes. “A few of my magelights followed me in.”

“They’ll go out in a minute.”

“I’m not afraid of the dark.” She nudged his knee with hers, trying to get him to smile. “After all, I have you here to protect me.”

Alistair’s jaw clenched, a muscle leaping back near his ear, and he looked away. Eilwyn’s heartbeat tripled, her whole spine felt as if it were suddenly made of sparklers, and she couldn’t tell if it was agony or pleasure that made her feel like slumping over with her head in her hands.

_Why is this suddenly so different?_

_It’s never been like this with him before._

_Has it?_

Eilwyn wracked her brain for times they’d come together, closer even than this. Had they started differently? Had she been less assertive? More? Was it his rawness at what happened with Goldanna that kept him still at arm’s length now?

A memory resurfaced, anchoring her as it did. At night, when she’d whispered that she didn’t want to sleep alone, he’d turned down his covers for her and offered her a place at his side.

She had to trust that Alistair wanted her here. This was not something scary, something to be nervous about, because his opinion about her was obvious. He had defended her, supported her…

And kissed her.

Just earlier today, he had kissed her.

Eilwyn let out a slow breath, and as she inhaled, she reached over and took Alistair’s hand where it was resting in a loose fist on his knee.

He flinched at the touch, but did not pull away. In fact, he seemed to exhale a breath he’d been holding onto in one long sigh, and he twisted his wrist to be able to hold her hand back.

“You seem a little nervous,” she said carefully.

“No, not in the slightest. Not nerve-wracking at all to have a pretty girl sitting in my room. On my bed. In the dark,” Alistair muttered.

Eilwyn cocked her head to the side, about to ask if she needed to leave, but then Alistair continued speaking.

“I’m sorry. You're right, I am. But only a little.”

“Because of me?”

“No. Well, yes,” he laughed. “It just feels different, when we can talk without our armor on. Wouldn’t you say?”

_Yes._

_It feels strangely sensual._

“I, um… I suppose,” she said quietly, as she did her best to banish that last thought from her consciousness. “Is it a bad thing?”

“No,” he whispered. “No, it’s very, very good.”

Alistair ran his thumb over the back of her hand, falling quiet as he did so. The skin to skin contact was almost too much to bear, and Eilwyn scooted closer to him on the bed, unable to help herself.

As he adjusted to her closeness, their forearms touched, and she couldn’t avoid smiling up at him in the dark. He returned the expression with immediate warmth, almost looking like it was instinct for him to do so. When he spoke, his voice was careful and measured, no longer shaky.

“Before we go any further, I wanted to thank you. We didn’t have to stop and meet my sister, yet you made time for it. You didn’t have to come with me. And then after everything went all mucky, you didn’t have to talk me down afterwards. But you did, and I’m grateful.”

She squeezed his hand. She thought to what she woud have done if she were in his place, and the image was a ridiculous one. If their roles were reversed, she would have prepared Alistair for the inevitably tomfoolery her family would bestow on them. She half-expected he’d try to come up with excuses not to go, when the time came.

“Thank you, Eilwyn,” Alistair murmured. “You’re a true friend, and I-”

Eilwyn gave a nervous laugh, accidentally cutting off what Alistair was going to say. He turned to her with a look of mild confusion, and she hurriedly calmed herself.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt, I just had this strange image of you trying to weasel your way out of going to see my family after the Blight.”

“You think I would want to stay behind?”

“That depends on how many of them still live. If they outnumber us three to one, I vote that we _both_ stay behind,” she muttered.

“Numbers mean nothing to a couple of Grey Wardens.”

“Do they not?”

“We’re used to being outmatched, seeing as it’s just the two of us essentially against the world,” Alistair muttered.

It was strange, that idea. It sent a shock of frightening tenderness through Eilwyn’s being, and her hand clenched on Alistair’s fingers. He gave her wrist a little shake.

“Anyway. The archdemon itself couldn’t stop me from accompanying you, magelet. I want to see everything related to your childhood.”

Eilwyn swallowed hard, her cheeks hurting from how much she wanted to laugh.

“Are you interested in finding out if I have a sizable inheritance, ser?” she teased. “Because seeing as I am but a mage, I think you’ll be sorely disappointed."

"I don't need your dowry," he said with a chuckle.

"Good. You might be lucky if I inherit a tea set, or a patch of turnips out back.”

“Blight the tea set,” Alistair murmured. “I want to see if you inherit your stunning good looks from your mother, or if the universe merely came together by chance within your eyes.”

“Maker,” Eilwyn gasped, laughing freely now as her heart bounced about inside her ribs at the compliment. “You… you can’t say things like that, Alistair!”

“No? Was it weird? It was weird, wasn’t it?" he smiled ruefully at her as he stammered. "I wrote it down, but I knew I should’ve built up to it some other way-”

“No, not weird, just-” Eilwyn tried to swallow back giggles, failed, then sputtered, “You think I’m that beautiful?”

“You know you are,” Alistair rebounded, exuberant. “Look, you’ve got a spot of beauty here-”

He moved forward and gave her braid a flick. She snickered, swatting his hand away.

“Oh, would you look at that, here too,” he drawled, reaching down to her hand to squeeze her wrists and flop her hand about until she laughed again. “You are positively oozing elegance, just look at that pinky finger of yours.”

Eilwyn pushed at him, but as soon as her palms touched his chest, her laughter stilled. She could feel his heartbeat, fast and eager, beneath her fingers. She was close. So close that she could feel what he felt, could anticipate what he wanted.

_Everything within me aches._

_It feels good and he isn’t even touching me._

_What do I do with this?_

Alistair looked up at her in the dark, his eyes bright with the remnants of the fading magelights reflected therein. Reaching up slowly, he held the knuckle of his index finger lightly at her chin. Slowly, agonizingly slowly, Alistair traced his thumb across the sensitive flesh of Eilwyn’s lower lip.

“And… you are especially beautiful right here,” he murmured, his voice so intimidatingly sensual that Eilwyn burst into another grin.

Her whole face felt like it could steam a dumpling, too warm and too pink and decidedly not beautiful. She brought one hand up to cover her mouth, the other pressing harder against Alistair’s chest as his expression fell easily into one of amusement.

“Was that no good either?” he asked, sounding breathless and happy and embarrassed all at once.

“I’m sorry,” she bit out past the laughter. “I’m sorry, it’s lovely. Too lovely. I can’t take it.”

“Miss, I would kindly ask that you stop laughing at me while I attempt to woo you. You are going to wake the entire neighborhood with your derision.”

She snorted as she tried to hold back her laughter, a piglike grunt, and Alistair let a loud chuckle escape him as well.

“You know,” Eilwyn said, trying to force herself to draw her shoulders back. “My room is on the other side of yours. Nobody’s in there. I don’t know how loud you think I am, but I assure you, nobody is going to know how successful your wooing is.”

“Right,” Alistair said, giving her a condescedingly playful nod. “Is this going well, then? The wooing? Because I can keep going, if you like.”

“If you keep saying woo it’s going to lose its meaning!”

Alistair repeated it, again and again, coltish in his teasing until Eilwyn was squealing with mock frustration.

“You sound like a seductive ghost,” Eilwyn protested, her cheeks sore from her smiles. “You must stop!”

_It feels good to laugh this hard again._

“All I’m saying is that when Wynne wakes up in the middle of the night with a vendetta for whoever disturbed her,” Alistair promised, “I’m going to point her to you.”

“I’ll stay silent,” Eilwyn said, gasping to quiet herself. “She’ll think it was you laughing this whole time.”

“Then I’ll just do this,” Alistair answered.

He reached out to prod at the ticklish spot just above her hip, and Eilwyn crumpled back into laughter before his fingers even reached her flesh.

“I didn’t even touch you!” he protested.

“Traitor,” she accused, smiling past her barb as she fought to push his hands away.

Vaguely, she knew she wanted the opposite. In the back of her mind, she wanted to let him touch her, grab her, even if it meant being tickled. But it felt so incredibly, stubbornly good to have him chase her that she kept pushing him away. Not enough to dissuade him. Just enough to make him fight her for it.

_I want…_

“Betray my one and only? My fellow Warden, my dearest, me? Never!” Alistair grunted as he lunged for her, his hand finally connecting with her hip. Eilwyn laughed silently as his fingers dug sweetly into her flesh, so sensitive that she couldn’t even howl from how much it tickled. Alistair gave a triumphant _ha_ , and she smacked at his shoulder hard enough for him to withdraw while she regained her breath.

“I’ll have you know," she gasped, "that you could stand to lower your voice too!”

“I see.” Alistair grinned. “Do you mean…” he let his volume fade into a husky whisper, his voice growing quiet and seductive. He raised an eyebrow as he put on an accent very similar to Zevran’s, and finished, “Like this?”

_Oh._

“Stop,” Eilwyn giggled, but this laugh was half-hearted compared to the others.

“Why?” Alistair moved closer, crowding into her space as he slid a hand onto the bedsheets behind her to support himself. “Didn’t you ask for this? For my voice to be… mmmm… lower?”

_Yes._

“No! This just sounds like your villain voice!”

“That’s because I am a villain, my dear,” he drawled, and for a split second Eilwyn felt a prick of fear. But then he continued, “Didn’t you realize? I’ve lulled you into a false sense of security with all my talk of fine cheese, and now you’ve let your guard down, and I am going to feed you to Morrigan.”

Eilwyn gave a soft squeal as she flinched behind her hands, but she didn’t move away. In fact, she brought her legs up onto the bed and scooted nearer to his hand. Alistair took the cue, advancing further, placing one arm on either side of her as she pretended to cower.

“I’m warning you,” she whispered through her fingers. “I’m a very powerful warrior, and I’m going to wack you with my shield if you don’t start behaving!”

“Show me this shield, then,” Alistair ordered, his voice still gravelly. “Because I think you’re bluffing. I don’t even think you’re wearing armor.”

Traitorously, even knowing he was doing it for a lark, Eilwyn felt desire course through her at his tone. Her legs felt heavy, excruciating pleasure already pulsing through her core at Alistair’s proximity… and his voice. It felt deliberate, this arousal, as if it was being threaded through her with every purposeful tone Alistair adopted.

_Can two play at this game?_

She dropped her hands and trained him with what she hoped was an innocent, wide-eyed look. For a moment, she imagined she saw his expression shift from high-spirits to something darker. But it could have been a trick of the light.

“You really think you should have won, the last time you challenged me?”

“I do,” Alistair grinned, as if absurdly pleased she was bringing this up now.

“But I won fair and square.”

"By holding me down and blasting me in the face with snow."

"You seemed like you liked it at the time," Eilwyn whispered, trying to use her doe-eyed sweetness to her advantage, but Alistair seemed focused on the task at hand.

“That is exactly what a dirty cheater would say.”

“We could have a rematch,” she said, her voice virtuous, a calculated conflict against her suggestion. “Right here, right now.”

“Are you actually suggesting we wrestle on my bed?” Alistair asked.

She froze in place, unable to confirm it, unable to say anything in fact as Alistair’s face split with a victorious grin once more. She was torn, part of her hopeful, part of her anxious, all of her so keyed up that she wanted to whimper from the effort of trying to think past the fog of sleepy want clouding her mind.

“What will we ever do with you?” Alistair tutted. “A liar, a cheater, and now a violent bed-bully. Tsk. You really have been hanging out with Zevran too much, haven't you?”

_Is that it?_

_But... didn't this look work with that one Templar? Back at the docks?_

“Did… did you lure me here to thank me, or to call me names?” Eilwyn burst out, petulant and at her wit’s end with want.

She didn’t know if they were playing, if they were serious, if they were going to touch or kiss or merely talk. Her mind was awash with a mixture of embarrassment and need, her body coiled and eager.

“And if I said neither?” Alistair whispered.

Eilwyn blinked, her thoughts immediately blank.

He made as if he was going to pull away, as if he was adjusting to sit up, and Eilwyn reacted. Swiftly, before her brain could recognize how it looked, she fisted one hand in his tunic, and pulled him gently back to her level. Alistair’s hand brushed her thigh as he moved to support himself before her, and she had to focus on not letting any reaction show on her face.

But Alistar must have seen the light change in her eyes, must have recognized that she wanted more, because he sobered a touch. His eyes still danced with mischief, with something Eilwyn felt in her bones even though she didn’t have a name for. She watched as his eyes roamed over her, drinking her in, and she liked it. The feeling of his appreciation, of his hunger, was so different from anything she’d expected.

“What…” She cleared her throat daintily, then tried again. “What would we do instead?”

Alistair drew his lip in between his teeth.

“I was actually hoping I could get a do-over.”

Eilwyn’s heart skipped a beat.

“Of?”

“There was a thing we tried earlier today, you and I,” Alistair murmured, his gaze falling from Eilwyn’s face to where her braid lay on her shoulder. She watched as Alistair smiled to himself, his thoughts a mystery to her in the dark. “I don’t think I did it all that well the first time.”

“Please don’t drag us off to barter with anymore salesmen,” she teased softly, “I’m too tired.”

He grinned, his teeth flashing white for a brief instant.

“No, not that. It was something we tried here, in this room.”

“Hmm,” Eilwyn muttered, pretending to think.

In reality, she was trying to catch her breath, to slow her thoughts, to contain all the urges she felt in this moment. The need to tell him how she felt catapulted Eilwyn’s heart to her throat, stifling her words for several heartbeats. She swallowed hard, and the belated realization that Alistair was watching her finally spurred her to speak.

“I’m afraid that no amount of practice is going to improve your handwriting.”

Alistair looked as if he very much wanted to roll his eyes at that, but like he found her too endearing to do so. He started to say something, then cut himself off. After a beat of chewing his lip in contemplative silence, he sighed.

“Do you… not want to try it again?” he asked quietly. “The thing we’re both avoiding saying aloud, for some reason?”

Eilwyn blushed further, a feat she hadn’t thought possible. At this rate, she was going to faint from overheating. She couldn’t see well, not with the single dying lamp in his room turned low and her magelights long since faded. Was he blushing too? Was he nervous?

Or was this normal for him?

“I… want to,” she said softly, bowing her head to hide her nerves. “But I’m not… before today, I’ve never really…”

“Oh?” He paused, as if the information was just absorbing into his mind, and then Alistair’s voice lowered even further. “Ohhh.”

“What?” Eilwyn asked, already defensive. “I told you before that I’ve never done anything, and it didn’t seem to be a problem.”

“No, it’s not that,” he said, hurriedly reassuring her in a rush. “It’s just that when we talked of lampposts, I didn’t know you meant you really hadn’t done… _anything_.”

He let out a breath, and Eilwyn looked up at him fully prepared to be hurt. He was laughing at her, she knew it, he was laughing at her inexperience. She loosened her hold on his tunic, about to move away from him, when Alistair spoke again.

“Did I ruin it for you?”

“Wha… ruin?”

She bent down and tilted her head to try to catch his eyes. It was difficult, because he seemed to be remembering something. He got this look about him when he was in his head, when he was trying to recall what the map had said without bringing it out to actively look.

Now, in the dark of his room, Alistair lifted his head with an expression of almost guilt about him.

He was biting his lip, his brow furrowed, and he straightened his shoulders to afford her a better view. When their eyes met, he gave her a crooked smile.

“I'm sorry. It should have been more special than that, right? Your first kiss?” Alistair asked softly. “It should have come on the wake of a confession. Or maybe after a particularly poignant moment, or a delicious meal. Not just out of the blue, pulled against a desk in a grungy tavern, all because I wanted-”

Eilwyn leaned forward without thinking, her eyelashes fluttering closed as she gently pressed her lips to Alistair’s. She brought her hand to his chin, to gentle her touch, and she felt his jaw flex beneath her fingers as he kissed her back immediately. He made a noise as his words faded away, a voiced gasp, and she tried to remember what he’d done to her before. When they were at the desk. When he had surprised her with the best first kiss she could have asked for.

_It was very gentle, not so much sucking like I thought kissing would be, just a brush and a push and a taste, and what if I tried-_

Alistair sighed, his body immobile as his lips moved against hers in subtle caresses. Eilwyn felt her heart in her stomach, its pounding a metronome for the swell of music building within her body, and she wondered vaguely if the ache in her core was painful or pleasurable.

After what could only have been but a second, Eilwyn pulled away. She opened her eyes and noticed that Alistair was keeping his shut, as if he didn’t want to leave that moment, as if he was savoring it or perhaps unable to believe it had happened. The thought made her smile, and she trailed her hand down his chin to rest on his chest. She gave a little tap with her fingers, hoping to get him to look at her.

“Does that count as your do-over?” she whispered when his eyes met hers.

He gave a coughing laugh, like he was caught off-guard.

“Um, I… I suppose it would, but…” he smiled helplessly. “I had something else in mind, I guess.”

“Oh.”

Part of her was disappointed, like her kiss hadn’t been special enough for him on its own, but it was eclipsed by the excited elation she felt at his fervor. She didn’t know what she was doing. She wanted something she couldn’t ask for. It was maddening, and if he could show her what he liked…

If he could show her more…

“Well, then… kiss me how you want to me kissed,” Eilwyn suggested, her voice small.

“I, uh,” Alistair laughed to himself. “Can we… can we take a minute? Just a minute?”

Eilwyn blinked as Alistair moved back to the edge of the bed.

_When did we get over here?_

_Oof, I’m warm._

Alistair took in a deep breath and let it out slow. He ran both hands through his hair, brushing back and forth, and she heard him sigh a second time. Eilwyn crawled over to his side and knelt there, one hand on his back, much like she had touched him a few hours prior just after Goldanna’s.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“Hey,” she took his shoulder in her palm and shook him gently. “I’m the one who always apologizes here. You stop it.”

He gave her a pity laugh, both of his hands steepled in front of his lips, and then shot her a sideways glance.

“You’re very good at surprising me.”

“How so?” Eilwyn asked.

“Just that I didn’t expect you to be so…” Alistair licked his lip. “Eager.”

“Oh.”

She frowned, and pulled her hand away from his back.

“I can stop-”

“It’s not a bad thing, Eilwyn,” Alistair clarified. “Not at all. But I can feel myself getting carried away, and I don’t want that.”

“Hmm.” She glanced down at the blanket, then untucked her feet from beneath herself so that she could sit at Alistair’s side and swing her feet off the edge. “Would you like to try again?”

He snorted.

“A do-over-over?”

“Yes,” she said, nodding emphatically. “Tell me what you imagined, what you planned, and I’ll behave. Not too eager. Only just enough.”

Alistair gave a weak laugh, but Eilwyn didn’t. She looked at him openly, with a small smile, and waited. Eventually, his eyes widened, and he seemed to realize she was serious. With that in mind, he seemed to give in.

“Alright. I was hoping I could tell you... how much you mean to me.”

Eilwyn beamed at him.

“That is a lovely plan.”

“I’ve been thinking about all this time we’ve spent together, you and I. You know, the tragedy, the brushes with death, the constant battles with the whole Blight looming over us.”

Eilwyn nodded.

“The assassins, the bears, the doggy breath,” she continued listing.

“Not my fault those mint leaves you gave me to chew had gone stale,” Alistair teased, feigning hurt.

Eilwyn giggled, but did not bring her hand up to cover her smile. She instead brought her palm back to rest between his shoulder blades, rubbing a soothing line up and down his spine. Her other hand she kept by her knee, so as not to distract them from the topic any further.

As he watched her, Alistair’s eyes gentled, and he seemed to grow more serious.

“Will you miss it, once it’s over?”

“Miss what?” Eilwyn asked. “The fighting for our lives?”

“Well, yes, that, I guess…”

“Or miss you?”

Alistair’s jaw clenched.

_Ah. It’s that one._

“I know what my answer would be, if you'd asked me," he whispered.

"And?"

"And this might sound strange,” Alistair said, “considering we haven’t known each other for very long, but… I’ve come to… care for you, Eilwyn. A great deal.”

She smiled. It was something she knew, something she sensed from him through all the talks and touches; but hearing it said aloud was entirely unexplored territory.

“Say it again,” she said, scratching gentle lines along his back.

“What?” Alistair chuckled. “That I care for you?”

“Yes.”

“I do. Very much. Maybe too much.”

“That’s wonderful,” Eilwyn beamed, and yet Alistair didn’t seem to be matching her expression. He seemed a bit distraught, actually, but maybe it was a trick of the light. Eilwyn settled, drawing her hands away from him. “Is it… not wonderful?”

“Eilwyn,” Alistair reached out and took both of her hands in his, then set them on his lap. He stared at them as if they’d write him a script if he just thought hard enough about it.

“You don't want to care about me?” she whispered, half to herself, half-hoping for an answer. Her voice was tiny, pathetic even to her own ears, but Alistair immediately perked up.

“What? No! I want to! What I’m trying to say is-”

Alistair huffed, then held her hands tighter. His words tumbled forward in a rush.

“Your friendship is, on its own, invaluable, Eilwyn. I don’t want you to feel like I was only friends with you in order to… like you were just… like I’m taking advantage of your kindness, is all.”

Alistair made sure she was looking at him, his eyes almost desperate.

“I don’t want you to regret this.”

Eilwyn blinked, his words clanging sharply against something within her memories.

In the Circle. When they’d found Cullen.

_“Do you regret finding Cullen as you did?”_

Her Templar had been broken, just as her Circle had fallen, and his truth was laid bare. He had called her a sin, a liar, a temptress. Just a pretty face, attached to a mage he never bothered to get to know, whereas she’d thought they'd been friends.

_I even told Alistair that didn’t I?_

_I told him I was looking for my friend._

_My friend the Templar._

Then Alistair had gotten to see the way Cullen had bitten at her. He'd seen how Cullen had recalled their time together so caustically. Cullen had shorn Eilwyn’s memories off of himself, bleeding as he severed all ties, and in the end he had renounced his feelings for her completely. When faced with nothing but goodness, Cullen had taken Eilwyn because she was convenient. When faced with hardship, he’d dropped her without hesitation.

But this…

Alistair’s worries about taking advantage, about her regretting this…

_He isn't going to regret it._

_Alistair wants me to know he won't throw this in my face._

“I know it’s sudden, I’m sorry,” Alistair continued, seemingly trying to fill the silence she was leaving hanging between them. “You have a lot on your mind already, and I know we aren’t here in Denerim to focus solely on ourselves. But then you supported me. Like you always do. And I found myself…”

He paused, biting his lip as a smile threatened to overtake him. He managed to keep it back, though, bitten back as he found his words once more.

“I didn’t know if you could ever feel that way about someone like me, after everything you’ve been through. But you’re more than just a friend to me, after everything, and I think…”

Eilwyn waited, enraptured, for him to say it.

What _it_ was, she couldn’t say for certain, but inside her breast was a faint glow of hope. She craved it, yearned for it, and wondered what she should do to urge it forth.

Alistair gave a tiny scoff and held her knuckles to his lips. His words were whispered into her skin, no less clear, no less meaningful, as his cheeks bloomed rosy pink in the dim lamplight.

“I think I’m falling in love with you, Eilwyn.”

Everything heightened, in that moment. The admission left her feeling a strange sense of vertigo, a dizziness that came accompanied by a stark sense of clarity. Her heart racing, her mind unable to keep up, Eilwyn couldn’t really utter anything of substance beyond-

“How do you know?”

Alistair laughed, as if that was the last thing he’d expected to hear her say.

“I… don’t, I suppose? I just know what I feel.”

“You feel love?” Eilwyn whispered, repeating it to herself as if she were testing its taste on her tongue.

Alistair nodded and his voice grew softer, as if to drive his next point home if he could.

“I want to be with you all the time, and I get the sense that you want to be around me too. You’re someone I admire and want to make happy.”

He stopped, then, and shook his head gently.

“Maybe I’m imagining it, though. Maybe I’m fooling myself,” he muttered. He heaved a long sigh, then dropped her hands back to his lap. “Am I? Fooling myself?”

“I don’t know,” Eilwyn whispered. “I’m… not quite sure I know what love even is, to tell you the truth.”

Alistair smiled, and she saw his jaw clench.

“I didn’t mean that. I was wondering if you think you might ever… feel the same way about me?”

Eilwyn felt strength return to her limbs, as if her soul had been falling from a great height and come crashing clumsily back into her own body. The feeling he was describing, of wanting to be with her, of wanting to make her feel good, she’d long since known she held those predilections for him.

_Feel it, or don’t. It’s up to me._

She nodded, swallowing hard so that she might find her words again. Alistair’s eyes were wide with hope, obvious in his desire, and Eilwyn slid her hands to his shoulders.

“I already do,” she answered.

She felt his shoulder slump with his sudden, seemingly involuntary exhale; she felt Alistair’s hand at her waist, his fingers roving so messily over the fabric to pull her close that it tugged her tunic up from her skin; and then he was kissing her before she could breathe. He pulled her forward against his chest, and there was no armor to separate them now.

The brush of skin was almost enough to make Eilwyn pull away, her senses too overwhelmed, but she didn’t want to. Everything in her was screaming to speed up, but also slow down, to move, but stay still; the only thing she could listen to was the pounding of her heart in her eardrums and the soft sighs of pleasure Alistair breathed gently against her parted lips.

The taste of Alistair’s skin sent a ripple of electricity from her toes to her hips, spooling about her legs until her knees were weak. Sliding her hands about his waist, she arched herself up into Alistair’s space and pulled him to her. His lips crashed against hers, harder this time, and a moan of surprise escaped his lips.

_More._

There was the quick nip teeth she’d felt before at the desk, the bite of a kiss too rough, too eager, their mouths moving against one another’s out of some unspoken instinct. Their sharp inhales mingled together against their cheeks, Alistair’s palm moving from her neck down to her collarbone, her shoulder, then back to her spine.

She felt him give in, could feel him change when he shifted his weight on the bed and slid his other arm to wrap around the small of her back. More desperate now, Eilwyn parted her lips to let out a breathy cry of delight, and that was when Alistair flicked his tongue against the curve of her upper lip.

Mindless with want, Eilwyn copied him. Slowly tilting her head as he kissed gentleness into her lips, she tasted his cupid’s bow, tracing the dip and curves of his mouth with just the tip of her tongue. She licked at it gently, so tentative and yet devoid of self-doubt.

_He wouldn’t kiss me in a way he didn’t want to be kissed._

As she took her time tasting him, drawing the lines of his mouth, Alistair gave her lower lip a tiny suck in response. She felt his teeth scrape lightly over her sensitive skin, her mind so dazed at the delectation that she could hardly focus. When she moved to do the same to him, their tongues touched and Alistair gave a beautiful little noise of astonishment against her mouth.

She did it again, seeking out his parted lips, relaxed in her explorations, and Alistair’s hands found her waist, tightening there against her tunic.

Lightheaded. She was so lightheaded, and she was certain she would drown in how good this felt.

But was she doing enough? In all of the novels, there was tongue-dancing and probing, whatever that meant. Should there be more probing happening?

_Oh._

_Wait._

_That thing he just did with his-_

_Oh!_

All conscious insecurities fled, all comparisons with her romance novels pitched out in an effort to stay present for this. In her book, the details were drawn out and slow, explained so that she could imagine every feeling sequentially. It was helpful, for someone who'd never experienced anything physical before.

This was different, and unlike anything Eilwyn could have prepared herself for. It was passionate, fast, overwhelming, but she still felt like she was in control. It was sensual, but not out of her realm of comfort. It was new, but not frightening in the least.

_Not with him._

It was something so simple, so innocent, and yet Eilwyn felt a glowing intensity building within her body at every flick of Alistair’s tongue or gentle brush of his lips. She’d thought such things were exaggerated, when others spoke of them. She’d thought arousal was something that took more time, took more effort, but she could already feel the glimmering throb at the apex of her thighs that signaled she was tapping into her more carnal desires.

She wanted him.

Whatever that meant, however she could have him, she wanted Alistair close, she wanted his skin on hers, she wanted to be grabbed by him and held tighter, held more fiercely, just… she _wanted_ him.

Her dreams came flooding back to her, the memory of how they’d swam together. She’d bucked against him in the dream, kissing him as she twined her limbs about him in abandon. Remembering it now, her hips ached, and the base of her spine sent pulse after pulse of current to the center of her pelvis. Eilwyn wished she was brave enough to shove Alistair backwards so that she could straddle him again, a growing need to have their bodies connected almost drawing her dangerously close to losing control.

_Just like he said he didn’t want to do._

But he was kissing her with just as much abandon as she felt, his mouth and his hands and his body pulling her to him with just as much audacity as she wished she could embody. Maybe he wanted to toe the line a little further. Maybe he wanted to feel her as close as she wanted him. The thought alone drew a keening, half-swallowed cry from her throat, one that had Alistair smiling and answering her with a noise of his own against her lips.

The way they were sitting offered her no chance to press herself along his length, not how she had against the desk. As he tilted her chin up, as she grabbed for him, Eilwyn knew that sitting here would not be enough.

_Can I… would he kiss me if we were laying down?_

She brought her knee up along the bed between them as they kissed, and as if he was worried she was going to pull away, Alistair’s hand found her cheek almost immediately. He held her face cupped to his, kissing her more fiercely as she moaned against him.

Feeling wanted, feeling how much Alistair longed for her to stay near him, only further drove Eilwyn to move.

Her one leg was now tucked up beneath her on the mattress, and the other dangled off of the edge. If she could just bring both knees up to where she could sit on them, it would make it so easy to lean forward and press herself onto him more fully. And then she could let them both tumble to the sheets, where she could stretch out and truly feel him. All of him.

_If he lets me._

_If he wants it, too._

It was just incredibly hard to move when Alistair kept tempting her, when he kept daring her to taste him more deeply with every flick of his tongue and brush of his lips. His hands were ever-moving, distractions in the most heated sense. Not one part of himself wasn’t wrapped up in keeping Eilwyn near, in keeping them connected. He coaxed noises from her so easily, little voiced gasps that would have had her writhing in shame were it not with him.

She was writhing for an entirely different reason now.

Her body was wracked with a need she didn’t quite understand, intoxicated by their confessions and lulled into drowsy arousal by Alistair’s easygoing touches. There were no thoughts of policing herself, no thoughts as to what a polite woman would or wouldn’t do. Her mind was consumed by only one thing.

_Get closer._

When Eilwyn gave another mewling noise, completely at his mercy, Alistair seemed to sense they were getting carried away. He broke the kiss, resting his forehead against hers for a moment before he pulled away from her entirely.

“That… that was…”

“Oh,” she whispered, unable to vocalize hardly anything in the aftermath.

Alistair laughed, and one of his hands came up to tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear.

“Maker’s breath,” he whispered. “For someone who’s never been kissed... you are incredibly good at that.”

It was Eilwyn’s turn to smile helplessly.

“I was just following your lead.”

“Was my- was any of this too fast?” Alistair asked her, checking in with her even as happiness blinded her to everything else.

She wondered, briefly, why he even asked. Was her body responding to his not answer enough? But then Eilwyn took a deep breath and thought about it. Going from never having been kissed to wanting to never stop, that must not be normal.

Right?

With that in mind, she took a moment before answering. As Alistair smoothed his thumb along her cheek, tracing its curve, Eilwyn tried to take stock of what was going on with her body, and see if any of this was, indeed, too fast.

Her limbs were heavy and tingly, her breath too cool for her lungs. She had gooseflesh running up and down her legs, and her thighs pulsed dully with every heartbeat, sending powerful waves of anticipation flooding through her core. Her back kind of hurt from leaning forward with only one leg tucked beneath herself, and she took a minute to adjust on the bed. Beyond that, she was electrified in a good way; it felt like her body was lit from within with magelights, too powerful to be contained, too beautiful to be ignored, and absolutely addictive.

But it did not feel wrong. It didn’t feel like something to regret, or look back on and cringe. It was something special, just as Alistair had told her he’d hoped it could be.

It was perfect.

Eilwyn turned to Alistair, and drew her lips into a slow smirk.

“Too fast? Mmm… I don’t know.”

For a moment, he looked worried, but then she brought her arms up and around his neck as she drew him nearer.

“I might need some more testing. You know. Just to be sure,” she whispered, already leaning forward in expectation.

Alistair grinned, and bent back to meet her lips, his eyes heavy as he drew her to his chest.

“Well then. I’ll have to arrange that, won’t I?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sidenote-- if your romance is active with Alistair before you go to see Goldanna, he says something different when he thanks you. Too bad our cinnamage cut him off, eh?
> 
> I think they still managed alright ;)
> 
> I totally was in a rush to post this and forgot to say a hello down here, but I wanted to let y'all know I will be moving starting from late July! In August/September I'll be visiting the states (finally in some of y'all's time zones again!) and will try to post regularly. When I get back to Japan in late September, everything should be hunkydory again.
> 
> Normally, writing helps me destress, but I can't say for sure if the timing will work out. There will either be a dry-zone for a month, or an influx haha. Cross your fingers it's the latter, and wish me luck <3


	23. Aftermath, And Afterwards

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not as much kisses, but still some kisses ;)  
> How could I not after where we left off??

Eilwyn was utterly exhausted, but did not want to stop what she was doing. To break away from Alistair's arms, from his mouth, after longing to be here for months... it was unthinkable. Her thoughts were consumed with her confession, with his answer, with the way Alistair whispered gentle praise into the soft skin underneath of her earlobe in the wake of their vulnerability.

_“You’re so beautiful.”  
_

_"I love how warm you are."_

_“Maker’s breath.”_

_“I am a lucky man.”_

Each whisper gave her a thrill of confidence, each breath heated her very core, as Alistair kept his hand steadily at her waist and went no further.

They were wrapped up in one another for so long that the dying oil lamp entirely burned out, and Eilwyn was forced to send flickers of magelights up about them so that they could see each other. They lasted for a while, but were not permanent, and each flock of wisps drew a little more out of her every time she conjured them.

On her third batch, her mana pool felt as if she were scraping the bottom of the barrel. When the bumble-bee-like yellow orbs began to blink in and out of existence, Eilwyn didn’t bother to cast anything further. She brought her hand to Alistair’s cheek as she continued to kiss him, even as the room was plunged into gentle darkness.

Too fatigued from everything, from their confessions and their emotions, at some point the two of them had wordlessly agreed to splay out across the duvet. Their bodies lay side by side, relaxed out on the mattress over the cover as they continued an almost lazy exploration of one another’s lips.

But when the dark finally enveloped them, Eilwyn gave a low sigh and arched upwards into Alistair’s arms. She grew bold enough to drag him closer, now that he wouldn’t be able to see the hesitance written on her features. Excited and almost listless, Eilwyn slid her hand down his waist until she could grab at Alistair's hip. When she dug her thumb into the muscles there, just above his belt, he moaned against her mouth as if she'd caught him by surprise.

Alistair’s hips were to the side of her thigh, one of his elbows was being used to support him as he leaned over her to continue kissing at her jaw, and she quietly ignored the way he adjusted in order to not press against her leg. As if he wanted to prevent anything inappropriate, as if he wanted to keep from repeating the accidental brushing she’d done against him by the fire.

She thought that maybe, she should protest that. Maybe she should be brave and slide up against him. She had her hand at his belt, she could bring his hips into stark contact with hers with but a tug, she could do that! And it wasn't as if Eilwyn was purely innocent in this either; she was past wet, her leggings so slick that she wondered if she had soaked through the fabric.

But fatigue won out over desire. Rather than pulling his hips to hers, Eilwyn relaxed back against the pillowcases and dropped her hand from Alistair's body.

Laying back as Alistair moved to nip kisses along her jaw and down to her collarbone, Eilwyn was content to drift off into nothingness. Her eyelids were heavy, her limbs languid and tingly. Her kiss-bitten lips grew slack against Alistair’s when he came back up to meet her mouth, even as she mewled little gasps of pleasure at his touch.

He slowed his kiss, then broke it completely, a little huff of a laugh tickling at her cheek.

“Hey,” he whispered, nudging her cheek with his nose as he dragged out the syllables of her name. "Eil-wyn."

“Mmmf.”

“Are you really falling asleep?” Alistair asked, his lips still near her jaw.

“Maybe,” she answered. “What happens if I am?”

“You have to get in your own bed, then.”

She tried to blink up at him, her shoulders already heavy against the covers.

“Why? It wouldn’t be the first time I slept on you.”

“Because…” Alistair seemed unable to finish the sentence, and he sighed against her cheek as he pressed another kiss to the skin. “Just because.”

Eilwyn tried to keep her eyes open to look at him, to try to read his expression, but she was too exhausted to do so. The adrenaline from finally getting Alistair this close was wearing off, her body having given up the ghost on seeking satisfaction for the night. Her arousal had peaked, its dull throb still continuous with every heartbeat, the most secret of her folds aching for release even as she drifted in and out of sleep.

But, unable to act on it, her body had decided to lapse into a groggy, steamy slumber. Eilwyn had no power over it. For a moment, she flinched, remembering the sloth demon and the way it had dragged her into the Fade, but then she felt Alistair’s hand rubbing a soothing line up and down her waist.

“Shh,” he breathed. “Let’s get you to bed, then.”

“I am already in bed.”

“You are stubborn, is what you are.”

“No,” Eilwyn whispered with a smile. “You are. For not letting me stay.”

Alistair seemed to laugh at that, and he mumbled something under his breath that she couldn’t catch. She’d heard it, but it faded from her memory as she closed her eyes once more and succumbed to the tired.

_If I stay very still, he’ll have no choice but to sleep beside me._

_If I just lay here, he’ll give up._

_I can tell he wants this too._

_Besides, who would willingly choose to sleep alone when they could cuddle someone else?_

_He's an incredible cuddler._

Eilwyn woke up in her own bed, with a low fire crackling in the hearth to keep her warm. McWhistle was curled up at her side, his nose burrowed so hard against her elbow that it pulled his jowls up and made him look like he was snarling. As he snored, his doggy tongue flopped about like a flag in the wind.

Had she not been so sleepy, Eilwyn might have laughed.

As it was, she merely snuggled back into her pillows and fell asleep once more.

* * *

For a moment, even with the gauzy light of the sun filtering in to kiss her cheeks, Eilwyn did not move when she woke up. It was decently early, which came to her as a surprise considering how late she’d stayed up with Alistair. As the sun snuck its rays past her open curtains, Eilwyn snuggled deeper into her covers. She tried to sink back into unconsciousness, but her mind was already alight with possibilities for the day. On a whim, still groggy and unthinking, she slid her fingers down over her belly and past her leggings.

_Oh._

_Still slick._

Embarrassment flooded through her, and she drew her hand away from herself so quickly that her pinky caught at her own bellybutton, her fingernail giving her own skin a little scratch. For a second, she lay there, staring at the ceiling as she blushed. All of a sudden, Eilwyn flipped over and buried her face deep into her pillow before letting out a long, excited squeal.

_He loves me._

_Er, falling, anyway._

_But still!_

The thought alone was enough to drive her to excited thrashing, but there was also just how thorough he’d been with his ministrations.

_Maker, we really kissed like that._

_We really kissed like that!_

Eilwyn gave another happy squeal and shook her head, sending her curls wild over the pillowcase as she thrashed.

Alistair had been so gentle, so easy, that she hadn't been afraid. It was foreign, having someone else's tongue in one's mouth, but absolutely not as unwelcome as she'd imagined it would be. In fact, it was incredibly intimate, and she'd been able to relax knowing that Alistair didn't want to get carried away.

He'd said it specifically. He didn't want to get carried away.

Over the years, from what Eilwyn had read, kissing like they'd kissed almost always led to sex. She’d been terrified, in a lot of ways, for last night to be the same. Aroused, delirious with want, she’d had moments of interspersed panic where she worried about where their kisses were headed.

_I don't know how to do... any of that._

_I wasn't ready._

_Neither was he._

_But we still did so much!_

She’d been able to relax, despite the newness. Or maybe because of it? Because it felt like it was new to Alistair as well, in a way.

And plus, Alistair kissed as if that act alone was worth the world to him.

The way he teased her last night was slow, unhurried, and fun. She’d not felt inexperienced, she’d felt brave and exploratory. With Alistair’s tongue, teeth, and lips, he’d shown her just how good a mouth could feel.

_Oh, that sounds so stupid to think, why did I think that, now I’m never going to be able to unthink it-_

Eilwyn gave another happy cry into her pillowcase, then sat up so she could finally breathe.

McWhistle was watching her from the other side of the bed, his head cocked with one ear inside-out from where he’d slept on it funny. When he noticed she was finally finished making noises and flopping about, he reached out a heavy paw and dropped it against her thigh. Almost like he was saying she should get herself together. Chuckling, Eilwyn reached out and fixed his ear for him, then patted his big wrinkly forehead until his entire doggy rump waggled practically off of the mattress.

As Eilwyn got up to get ready of the day, she wondered at the implications of this. Of what she'd done.

She’d kissed Alistair.

He’d talked of wooing, and joked about her dowry and meeting her parents, and he’d given her gifts, and he’d told her he was falling for her.

_But what does it mean for us?_

There was a large part of her that wondered if she deserved any of this affection. The feeling was doubt, it was insidious and sore. It ate at her, gnawing in her like a deep itch, and Eilwyn tried merely to ignore it as best she could. After all, what else could she do but recognize it? Try to move past it?

_Alistair is different, and he’s not going to hurt me._

He’d told her he didn’t want her to regret this, and so she trusted him. Whatever this was from now on, however their friendship blossomed, it would be okay.

_But how is it going to turn out?_

_I just don't know._

Her stomach turned at the inevitable thought of it ending badly, or of him getting hurt, or of him being forced to be king and how that would change him and what would he do with her if he was king-

She grit her teeth and sat down in front of the vanity as McWhistle turned in a circle and went back to sleep. For the first time in a long time, she agonized over braiding her hair just right, until she had several plaits within a long braid hanging over her left shoulder. Her hair was so long that it weighed heavy on her neck, even done up as it was, but she loved how it fell in waves about her face. It gave her something to concentrate on, instead of what could go wrong with loving someone.

When she was finally satisfied with how her hair looked, she washed her face twice with cold water to brace herself, and then she changed into her robes. She set out her last clean tunic over the back of the chair by the fire, already eager to be wearing it instead of the mail-inlaid dress she tugged over her body now.

_I’ve been wearing my robes for so long, I don’t have many clothes to wear in my day to day._

_Maybe I could do some shopping while we’re here._

Once she was cinched tight into her enchanted gear, she slipped on her leather pocketed vest and looked back in the vanity mirror. Stepping away so that she could take in a full view of herself, she smiled.

_I look capable._

Confidence and vigor renewed, Eilwyn took the steps downstairs two at a time. Gauging the time she’d spent tying her hair up based off of how high the sun had risen beyond the windows, she was not surprised to see half her party finishing up their breakfast and heading towards the door when she arrived. Leliana and Zevran gave her little waves as they followed Sten out the front door.

Eilwyn's feet fell slower onto the floor, her pace hesitant as she wondered what that meant for breakfast company.

Wynne, Morrigan, and Alistair were still picking at the remnants of their meals, and as soon as Eilwyn’s footsteps landed on the bottom stair, all three of them looked up at once.

Morrigan seemed unphased at the sight of her, and with a head nod towards Eilwyn she returned posthaste to her half-eaten porridge. She seemed to be stirring it as she read her grimoire, with no intention of actually eating the rest of it.

For all that Morrigan looked indifferent, Wynne was comprised of smiles and sighs. She looked extremely pleased with herself, and Eilwyn had a sudden sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.

_Does she know?_

Before she could blush, Eilwyn pushed the thought down.

There was nothing to be ashamed of. There was nothing to know. Alistair hadn’t even let her sleep in his bed.

_Not for lack of my trying._

He’d been a perfect gentleman.

_A gentleman who kissed me until my lips were sore._

_Wait._

_Is Wynne smiling because I have something on my face?_

_Kiss marks?_

_Swollen lips?_

_Maferath’s balls, I was so focused on my hair that I forgot to check for marks!_

Hurriedly, Eilwyn bit down on her lips. She came up with a plethora of lame excuses, one after another in rapid succession, as she padded over to join the trio at the table. She was just mentally reciting a line about having fallen from her bed and bitten her own lips-

_That's why they're so swollen, I swear!_

-when Alistair cleared his throat and caught her attention.

He pushed out a chair at his side for her, and her heart melted at the gesture. He’d done it countless times before, but now she couldn’t help but feel like it was sweeter. A bit nervous for some reason, Eilwyn glanced down at him in question before she took a seat.

He looked well-rested and happy. His eyes were bright, his posture relaxed, and a smile was playing on his lips at the mere sight of her.

She released the hold she had on her own lips and grinned back.

“Hello you,” Alistair said brightly. “Did you sleep well?”

Eilwyn nodded, wondering if that was supposed to be a bit of a hint at her fatigue last night. As she sat down, Alistair’s hand found hers beneath the table and gave it a quick squeeze, just out of sight enough from the other two that Eilwyn felt it was hers alone to keep.

Smiling at him, she nodded.

“So well that I missed half of breakfast, apparently.”

“You must have needed your rest, dear,” Wynne said, primly bringing her teacup to her lips as she did so. Over the steaming liquid, she muttered, “It’s amazing what a good bed can do for the spirits.”

Eilwyn stared down at the table, the double-entendre not lost on her, and when Wynne lifted her cup up to drink Eilwyn shot Alistair a glance. Luckily, her warrior seemed to be even more embarrassed than she was. His hand fell away from hers, and he cleared his throat. They both sat straighter at the table, almost like they were under some form of inspection.

Morrigan, without looking up, merely sighed at the spectacle.

“Yes, well,” Alistair muttered. “This is a really nice change to sleeping on the cold ground. Come winter, we might not be so lucky. Hope you ladies know how to layer your socks.”

“Ugh,” Wynne made a small noise in the back of her throat. “Andraste preserve us.”

“ _Your_ socks,” Alistair retorted. “You don’t have to touch mine, since they offend you so badly.”

“Winter will be difficult,” Eilwyn murmured. “But hopefully we can be in and out of the Brecilian forest with the treaties by the time the leaves finish falling.”

“That’s optimistic,” Morrigan muttered. “And when the ground begins to freeze beneath our bodies, what then?”

“I’ve read about how to change our shelters, come cold. On top of that, we’ll sleep two to a tent when the ground starts to frost,” Eilwyn said without thinking. “Sharing body heat is the best way to keep warm, and we can layer the canvas for an extra shield against the elements.”

Alistair made a noise, as if all of the air had fled his lungs in one swift woosh.

“Indeed,” Morrigan cooed sarcastically down into her book. “Perhaps they will make the tents a bit more soundproof as well?”

“Why?” Alistair asked dryly. “Planning to quietly sacrifice a goat or two in your sleep?”

“Oh no,” Morrigan snipped. “I was referring to the way you talk in _your_ sleep. Or was the laughter I heard last night _not_ coming from your room as I thought?"

Alistair made a noise, like he'd gone to say something then thought better of it, and Morrigan lowered her voice further.

"Funny. I could have sworn I heard some sort of giggling.”

Eilwyn glanced up at her friend, torn between being amused and being horrified.

_She heard the wooing?_

“Tell us, Alistair. What was it that you found so amusing?” Morrigan pressed. “Did you finally discover that you could count past your fingers and toes?”

The witch wasn’t teasing goodnaturedly, at least not that Eilwyn could discern from her expression. Morrigan had no love for Alistair, that much was obvious, but she wasn’t even looking at them as she spoke. She was invested in her book, the one Eilwyn had worked hard to recover for her from her own Circle tower, and she was commenting like Wynne had. She seemed to be actively digging, as if she did not approve of his dalliance with Eilwyn.

_Did Wynne and Morrigan agree on this then?_

_This disapproval of us?_

“You know, Morrigan,” Alistair said with a sigh. “You could have been dreaming. Or it could have been ghosts. I hear this tavern’s very haunted, just ask Leliana sometime. All sorts of baddies and ghosties to giggle up a storm in your sleep. Some of them even sound remarkably like our noble leader... or so I've heard, anyway.”

Eilwyn turned to glance at his expression, her eyes wide with shock that he'd implicate her in this. But when Alistair caught her gaze he gave her a quick wink.

Immediately, she wanted to smile, to laugh even. She wanted to play back, to show him she didn't mind. But she knew if she did, it would only further give them away. She struggled to keep her expression neutral as she avoided Wynne’s gaze. Morrigan rolled her eyes, her voice taking on less of a bite at the admission.

“Just do try to keep it down in the future. We’ve only one a brief amount of time to take advantage of our own private quarters. I’d rather not be forced to listen to your late night conversations with our _noble leader_ , if it can be helped,” Morrigan sighed, bringing her spoon to her lips to take a small mouthful of porridge.

When she swallowed, she dropped her spoon into the bowl and raised her eyes. It was like she was daring Alistair to dispute what she’d just posited, like she was daring him to deny something she hadn’t said aloud.

Alistair shrugged.

“Maybe you should be sleeping at night, rather than up listening to what Eilwyn and I do,” Alistair said, narrowing his eyes across the table as he lifted a biscuit to his mouth. “Ever think about that?”

While he bit down into it, melted butter threatening to dribble over his knuckles, Alistair casually threw an arm across the back of Eilwyn’s chair. She leaned back onto it, amazed that he had admitted, however subversively, that he'd been with her. As if he wasn't ashamed.

Simultaneously, Eilwyn felt like crumbling in embarrassment at how loud her laughter must have been last night for Morrigan to comment on it in the first place.

_Morrigan’s room was the furthest away, I thought._

_Maker… it means everyone must have heard._

It wasn’t that she was remorseful. But she was on the same page as Alistair seemed to be; it wasn’t her companions’ business what she did and didn’t do at night during her own time.

_Plus, I didn’t even really do anything!_

Morrigan sucked her tooth and looked at Eilwyn instead.

“Indulge me, Eilwyn. I know you are the younger of your pair, but it seems you have, after all, been thrust into the lead role. In more ways than one, perhaps.”

"I... uh..."

Eilwyn flushed pink, and she brought both her hands to the center of her lap to fiddle with her fingernails. She wasn't sure how to combat such an accusation.

_Pretty sure she means something naughty._

_Do they... do they all think we did something worse last night?_

The mere thought that she and Alistair were being implicated in something illicit made her words stick in her throat. The awkward silence dragged on, for it seemed as if Alistair, too, was too stricken by the hint to offer up a satisfying comeback right away.

“More tea, child?” Wynne asked, interrupting the quiet.

Eilwyn looked up, an eyebrow quirked, and saw that Wynne looked as if she were apologetic. Her expression read almost like pity, and Eilwyn wondered if she wasn't offering the tea as a distraction from the topic at hand.

Without paying attention to how hot it was, Eilwyn gulped down her cup's contents. She swallowed quickly, grateful for a distraction, even if it did burn all the way down into her stomach. Finally finished, Eilwyn gave a wet cough and extended her teacup to the mage across from her.

“Yes please.”

All seemed right, with Alistair making some comment about getting a top-up as well, and everyone picked up their forks as if they were going to carry on with breakfast. But Morrigan wasn't done. As soon as Eilwyn set her teacup down, Morrigan spoke again.

“Tell me. Is it permissible for two Wardens to…?”

“Caboodle?” Alistair asked, and his hand patted the chair as if to illustrate that he was, indeed, fine with caboodling.

“No. Fraternize,” Morrigan finished, her voice low.

Eilwyn burned with the implication, and with the idea of once more being berated for something that felt good and right.

_More unsolicited advice._

_How utterly charming._

“When I was talking about sharing tents,” Eilwyn bit out, “I didn’t mean to imply that-”

“I, for one, understood what you meant, child.”

All three of them looked up in shock at Wynne’s words.

“We’ll stock up on furs, as well, but yes,” Wynne said. “Sleeping in groups is one method we should employ to keep warm come winter. We’ll have to start thinking about what foods will keep easier in the cold, and how best to get across Ferelden should the snows hit hard. Might be worth looking into sturdier tent material while we’re near a market, just as you said, and perhaps even some new boots.”

Her voice was firm and kind, which came as a shock. It was like she was taking pity on Eilwyn after everything, especially seeing as how Morrigan had made everyone a bit uncomfortable.

Rather than questioning her defense, Eilwyn seized the chance at relief. She nodded emphatically, hoping that they were all agreed and would not bring up the subject again.

At least not until she'd had a moment to come up with wittier ripostes.

After a moment where nobody seemed to want to speak up any further, Alistair brought his hand down to shake Eilwyn gently on the shoulder. She glanced up at him, half-expecting him to ask her if she was alright, but instead he grinned and passed her a bowl from his side of the table.

“Do me a favor and try the porridge,” Alistair said. “I put a spot of honey in for you, so tell me if it’s too sweet.”

“Oh.” Eilwyn glanced down, having completely forgotten about breakfast. “I ah… thank you.”

“We’ve got a long day ahead of us,” Wynne said. “Here, the bacon’s also not as bad as I expected.”

As Eilwyn began to make a small plate for herself, she caught Morrigan’s eyes across the table only once.

The witch looked as if she was contemplating something, but she was not annoyed enough to actively leave the table. When Eilwyn gave her a weak little smile as she spooned a fried egg sloppily onto her plate, Morrigan’s eyes widened and she broke their gaze.

With a sigh, Eilwyn drew her plate forward and realized that the day was not going to get any less awkward from here. Leliana, Zevran, and Sten had all left with merely waves over their shoulders. This was her group for the day, and she needed to make the best of it, regardless of the unsolicited questions and advice that seemed to follow these two powerful women like a heady perfume.

Eilwyn startled when Alistair gently clinked his teacup against hers, like a miniature cheers. She smiled weakly over at him, then began to tuck in earnestly.

_At least I get to keep him at my side today a well._

_Besides, Wynne and Morrigan are fond of me, in their own ways. I know they don't mean anything by it._

_How bad could today be?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey Wynne, hey. [You know what that is?](https://media.giphy.com/media/26n6PxXCcE7d1O7Go/giphy.gif)
> 
> nyehehe~
> 
> I find it very intriguing the stuff other companions have to say about a Warden and Alistair getting involved. As if it's the worst distraction in the world, to want to snuggle someone to bits.
> 
> I do get it. But also, leave my cinnamageroll alone y'all. Bunch of meddling mages up in here, aren't there haha <3


	24. Delayed Poison Extraction

Eilwyn pushed her stick around in a lazy circle, drawing another rune in the mud beside the one she’d just smudged with her boot. It was a bit tough, seeing as the ground was cold even where the water lapped up from the creek they’d stopped near, but she managed to carve out a little ward without flicking up a divot of earth like the last three times she'd tried.

The earthy rune pulsed with a dull glow of mana, until Eilwyn scratched it out and swiped the ground with her foot to start over yet again.

She wasn’t writing them for any purpose. As they traveled, inspired by reading through her herbalism notes from the Circle, Eilwyn had taken to carving wards strategically into the dirt along the perimeter of their camp while the others took care of the tents. She'd done that already tonight, just before quietly setting up her tent with the secondary waterproof canvas they'd bought for winter.

Now, she was apart from the group sulking, and she just wanted something to do with her hands.

_He couldn't have just been in Denerim, right?_

_No, that would have been too easy._

If she just sat here, mind anxious, her cuticles were going to suffer even more than they already were. Her thumb was especially sore from where she’d managed to scraped beneath her fingernail a bit too far, bruising the nail-bed. Drawing in the dirt was a childish thing to do to occupy her mind, but she didn't know what else to do.

_I hate this._

_I should practice, though, the last rune was a bit wonky._

With a sigh, Eilwyn dropped her stick to the earth again, laying out the circular strokes as best she could as her breath fogged in clouds about her face. Behind her, she could hear her companions trying to be quiet and failing. Zevran’s voice was carrying particularly far. As she tried to shut her ears to their contemplation, Eilwyn felt her shoulders hunching downward, her body folding in on itself as she tapped the stick frustratedly against the mossy bank.

“Someone should talk to her, my friend. If it is not you, I volunteer my services gladly.”

“Leave her be,” Morrigan muttered, and then something about not needing to baby something.

Eilwyn grit her teeth.

_I mean… if they wanted to come check on me I wouldn’t be opposed…_

_Does that make me a baby?_

In truth, Eilwyn felt as if asking for help would make her seem weaker than someone approaching her on their own. She had been trying to hide how she felt for a while now, upon learning that Genitivi was not in his home in Denerim. That would have been frustrating on its own, but then finding out where he was last rumored to have been seen?

_I was already there._

They would have to travel back to Lake Calenhad, to search for him at the Spoiled Princess, which was why they were already on their way south once more. When they'd found out, when the man whose name was now escaping her -Genitivi's steward?- told them where to go, Eilwyn's first instinct had been to whimper. She'd barely held back the noise, and a good thing too. Morrigan had immediately piped up when they'd left the house.

"How wonderful," she'd snapped. "Would you like for us to take a few circles around the market, while we're at it? Perhaps dither about the farmlands? Tis just as much a waste of time as this particular chase."

"Now, Morrigan," Wynne had said with a graceful tilt of her neck. "We can take the opportunity to bolster the countryside. Help travelers, prepare ourselves and the surrounding area for more to come."

"If they do not set our heads on pikes first," Alistair had muttered.

"The drama," Morrigan had said, rolling her eyes. It had ended the conversation, essentially, and Eilwyn had not uttered a word.

_I had wanted to cry._

_They accepted it... even though they seemed annoyed, they accepted it._

That night, she'd excused herself early, after asking Wynne to explain everything to Leliana, Zevran, and Sten. When Alistair had followed her up the stairs, she had given him a kiss on the cheek and told him she didn't feel well.

It hadn't been a lie, exactly. She had stayed up for most of that night, tossing and turning, with visions of the tower across the lake cropping up every time she'd managed to close her eyes.

_I’ll be able to see the tower across the lake._

_I wonder if it will rain again._

They'd left the city this morning. Eilwyn had been quiet on their way from Denerim, and hadn’t spoken much on the road. Alistair and Leliana had spent the better part of the morning inventing shapes the clouds made in the sky, and then stories to go along with them. Morrigan had become irate at the noise they were making as they traveled and begun to scout up ahead, taking the form of a raven to do so in peace and quiet. It had been a very pleasant walk south, one without ambush or vagrants or burglary of any kind.

But Eilwyn had been tense. Like her veins were colder than the air that bit at her cheeks and nose over the lip of her scarf.

Alistair had moved up to her side and he’d held her hand, and she’d smiled at him. She’d been present, as much as she could, for fear of giving away her trepidation.

If she admitted her nerves out loud, they would laugh at her or be cross. She'd missed her chance to speak up about it when Morrigan made her feelings known, and had to deal with it. This fear was irrational, and she knew it, so it was best to suppress it, right? Eilwyn had done so, and rather stoically at that.

Or rather, she’d thought she had, before her friends had begun to talk about her.

As soon as she left to set the wards in the dirt about their perimeter, Wynne had approached Alistair and caught his elbow, saying something in a low voice. Was it her imagination, or had Wynne pointed in Eilwyn's direction?

Eilwyn had ignored it. It was probably more unsolicited relationship advice.

But then, Sten had made a casual comment about splinters and toes, and Alistair had bristled. It was so uncharacteristic of him, so strange, that Eilwyn had wondered if he was being made fun of. When she'd asked Alistair to explain what Sten had meant, he'd looked sheepish, and Sten had told her gently that it was not meant for her ears.

It hadn't helped the feeling of guilt that was nestling crookedly inside her chest.

And now, after they had made camp, it seemed they were debating on who was going to clean up the mess that was their leader. It should have made her feel supported, but instead it only further served to color Eilwyn's feelings a darker grey.

_I’m sorry._

_I just…_

_I’m sorry._

“Do not trouble her,” it sounded like Wynne said. Leliana said something to protest that, something Eilwyn didn't catch, because Wynne said gently, "I know you mean well, but I doubt a story will help, dear."

There was a quiet chatter, but Eilwyn couldn’t tell who all it was coming from for a moment. Embarrassment flooded through her, and she got up to walk further away, further down the bank of the creek.

_If I can hear them, they can hear me._

“Is this what she does normally, then? The sulking?” Zevran asked. It was the last thing she caught before she broke into an easy jog down the bank.

She kept her footsteps light and easy, just trying to move far enough away that she wouldn't have to overhear their debate.

_I am a baby._

Coming to a halt, barely able to see the orange glow of the fire from where she stood now, Eilwyn flung her stick into the creek with a pathetic little plop. For a moment, she stood there, chest heaving, breaths puffing out in foggy evidence of her emotional state, heart beating rapidly in her chest. Her knees grew weak, and rather than change her stance, Eilwyn flopped to the ground.

It was overdramatic, and she probably bruised her arse from how she'd crumpled, but it felt good to do something petulant. To do something at all besides pretend to be fine.

_How does Wynne do it?_

_How does she keep it together without showing fear?_

_Because I don't think I can._

Eilwyn sat there on the bank, her legs chilly and her arse throbbing, and eventually she drew up her knees to herself. She felt close to tears, her own inner dread something she hated and wished to be rid of. Within her breast lay two warring heartbeats, echoes of one another that would not beat in time.

One told her that she was stronger than this, and that it was childish to be so scared at the prospect of returning to Lake Calenhad. She should put on a legitimately happy face. Not this pathetic attempt at one, either, but an actual happy face that wouldn’t worry her friends so much. It wasn't as if she hadn't faced darker things. This was nothing if not an inconvenience.

The other, however, thumped out a steady, acidic fear, one that leaked guilt into her lungs and made her feel heavy with regret. Logically, she knew that she shouldn't be scared. But truly, deep in her gut, Eilwyn knew that she was still afraid, even after everything she’d been through. She was afraid to return to her home, the only place she’d known since she was a girl, and afraid to see if it was a ruination of its former self.

Even more frightening was the prospect of it looking almost exactly the same as it ever did, as if none of the horrors had transpired within its walls, and Eilwyn would be left with the burden of remembering it all by herself.

It would be right there. Just across the lake.

Waiting for her.

Would it still smell like burnt hair and bloodied incense?

Or would they have cleaned, erased the horrors as if nothing had ever occurred there at all?

Eilwyn groaned and drew her knees up to her chest. With a huff, she let her forehead fall to her arms, essentially becoming a ball of self-pity.

It was probably because of her own noises that she didn’t hear someone approaching behind her until their footsteps were just at her side.

“Hey.”

Eilwyn relaxed at Alistair’s voice.

“Hello you,” she muttered, not raising her head.

She heard him sit down beside her on the dry grass, and he shuffled his boots into a comfortable position with a sigh.

“Come to check on the baby at the group’s behest?” she asked.

Even though she was doing herself no favors asking such a thing, it felt kind of good to pinch at someone with her words. Kind of like flopping to the ground in a heap had felt. Painful, but justified. Even so, Eilwyn could hear herself proving everyone right with her crankiness,and she cringed.

“No. I mean, not really,” Alistair answered, sounding flustered. “To be honest, I was going to come after you myself, once they quieted down about it.”

“Only when they quieted?”

“Yes. It didn't feel right, everyone pushing me to run after you the very moment you went off on your own.”

“Why’s that?”

Eilwyn raised her head and looked at him, resting her cheek on her forearms. In the dark, his eyes still seemed to sparkle, especially when he smiled sadly at her.

“Because they know how I feel about you,” he answered. “I don’t want them to think that I have to be the one to swoop in every time you need a moment to yourself.”

“Swooping is bad,” Eilwyn nodded with a smirk.

“Very,” Alistair narrowed his eyes at her, playful and sweet.

Eilwyn heaved a sigh, and Alistair gave an echoing one.

“I know you can handle yourself,” Alistair said quietly, “that's not what this is about. But if you want to talk about what’s wrong... I’m here.”

“Nothing is wrong.”

“Eilwyn.”

She shrugged, then kicked out her boot to smudge the dirt before her.

“It's not! We have a clear objective. Get back to the Spoiled Princess, ask about Genitivi. We did what we went to Denerim for, and now we have to double back, which is _great_. Even the weather was perfect. What's there to be upset about?”

"I can’t… I'm not sure I know what to do when you do this, magelet."

"Do what?"

“Look,” Alistair shuffled closer to her and nudged her shoulder with his. “I don’t know how it worked in the Circle, but you can’t just pretend everything’s alright when you’re hurting. Ignoring pain until it goes away doesn't mean it really goes away.”

“E-excuse me?”

Eilwyn trained him with a narrowed gaze and he gave a sigh.

“You aren't going to be labeled for being too emotional here. There are no Templars to suspect you of anything."

"That's not-"

"You don't have to shut down.”

“I’m shutting down?” she repeated. “Because I’m trying to keep a stiff upper lip?”

"Yes!"

"So when Wynne says she's fine, dear, don't worry about me," Eilwyn put on a rather caustic whisper, impersonating the enchantress even as she worried she'd be overheard. "Then she's shutting down, is that it?"

“No," Alistair frowned, then shook his head. "She's- it's not the same."

"Is it not?" Eilwyn curled her lip, then caught herself and bit down on it instead. "Anything frustrating or difficult, she just..." unable to voice it, she shrugged with an exasperated noise.

"It would be different if you weren’t suffering beneath it!” Alistair protested. "Wynne doesn't hold on to things. She can't afford to, it would give her ulcers like you wouldn't believe!"

“How do you know I’m suffering?” Eilwyn pushed, refusing to let him joke his way out of this.

“I guess I don't, really,” he said hurriedly. “But I know that you also had this look about you when we left Kinloch-”

“With good reason.”

“I’m not saying you didn’t have good reasons, Eilwyn, I’m saying I need you to tell me what you want.” Alistair paused, letting that sink in, then continued. “If you need to be alone, say it. If you need to talk to someone, say it. But don’t _lie_ to me and tell me you’re fine or that there's no issues, all because you think it’s what I need to hear!”

“Is it not what you need?"

Alistair paused, looking hurt.

"You need me to be the leader, right?” Eilwyn countered. “A leader shouldn’t feel this way!”

“You are our leader regardless-”

“Oh like it’s not something you all regret? Putting someone like me in charge of our band of misfits?”

Alistair paused, and Eilwyn wondered if maybe the sting of her comment was too harsh. But then he furrowed his brow and leaned closer.

“What do you mean, someone like you?”

She didn’t answer. Too many feelings, too much at once, too confusing. Eilwyn couldn’t handle it. If she said something, she’d cry. She knew it. She’d spoken without thinking, had no idea where this had come from, and now her emotions were so close to the gate that if she unleashed them she would be swept away.

_I need you to think I’m okay._

_Because then, I might just be okay._

_I've been trying to be okay this whole time, and if I just... if you make me believe it..._

Alistair tried again in the wake of her brooding silence.

“I don't know how you think we view you, but I promise you wholeheartedly that it is not with anything close to regret."

Eilwyn scoffed.

"I speak for everyone, you know. Unofficially," Alistair said. "We'd all agree that you're someone worthy of leading. Might be the only thing we'd agree on, actually, come to think of it."

She scoffed.

"We already think that, Eilwyn. We already _know_ that.”

It just dug the nail of guilt deeper into her ribs. He reached for her hand, but she couldn't let go of her own body to touch him. Shrugging so that he had to move his hand away from her, Eilwyn rebuffed his advance.

If she touched him, it would make her feel too much, and she was already feeling too much.

When Eilwyn said nothing, Alistair gave a frustrated little sigh once more and hung his head.

"I almost prefer tears to this silence,” he muttered. “At least then I would know how to comfort you.”

Eilwyn turned away from him, her chin digging into the meat of her forearm as she blinked at the creek.

_Did you really prefer the crying?_

_Glad this was all for nothing then._

_Add that to the pile of things I regret._

Everything she’d been trying to keep inside began to compound as she stared unflinching out into the dark of the night. Her pain, the trauma she’d managed to suppress, began to leak slow poison into her veins. Kinloch, Calenhad, her tower, her friends, her home…

_I get to go back._

_And never really go back._

_All at once._

Eilwyn’s eyes stung with unshed tears, and her heart burned with how right Alistair was. She let her eyes well up until her vision was blurred absolutely before she blinked. One bat of her eyelashes was enough to send them trailing down her cheeks in droves. She sniffled loudly once, twice, and on the third helpless sniffle Alistair made a noise as if he’d been punched in the gut.

“I- are you- oh no, no, dear one, I didn’t mean cry now, please don’t cry, I just-”

He cut himself off, sounding as if he wanted very much to kick himself, and Eilwyn turned to him with the last of her willpower.

“I’m frightened.”

Alistair shut his mouth with a clack, his words seemingly forgotten. Eilwyn exhaled, the noise dangerously close to a sob, and inhaled raggedly to try to get her words out past her hitching breaths.

“I’m s-sorry I shut you out, but I’m- I don’t want to go back to Lake Calenhad! I can't!”

Her words were a weak whisper, past the tears, past the sudden onslaught of sobs that shook her ribs. Eilwyn, for the first time since the Circle had broken, cried all of the poison out.

She wept for her fallen mages, for those who sought to cut themselves open in order to be free. She wept for Irving, and for Greagoir, for their oversight and lack of control and the guilt that they must carry for their failings. She even wept for Cullen, for the way he had had everything good in his heart turned against him and corrupted and for the suffering he’d endured.

But most of all, she wept for herself.

Eilwyn released all of the devastation she’d internalized; she allowed herself to hurt, to recall the bodies she’d seen contorted in a vitriol that she’d only ever associated with unthinking darkspawn. She sobbed out the fear she’d pushed down, the fear that she would succumb to weakness as well and unleash vengeful havoc upon her friends. She cried out the hatred she held for herself, for the magic within her veins that made her so repulsive to the ones she wanted most, and yet so tantalizing for the demons who craved her as a vessel.

Without the poison in her breast, Eilwyn was left with a cold acceptance.

She was left with the idea that she could never return home, to any home, and nor did she even want to.

If she returned to the walls she had trailed her fingers over, the walls that had echoed songs about apple trees, she knew that the stones would no longer feel the same. They would forever be stained with the memories of blood and viscera, with smoky outlines of men and women who’d been cast into flames by demons, with scratches from desperate fingers as Templars and mages alike sought to escape the stony prison to no avail.

It would be tainted by her inability to prevent the horrors.

It would be forever a testament to her absence.

And she just didn't want to see it, or be reminded of it. She'd gotten distracted by Alistair's own need for closure, his own hope and grief. She'd devoted her attention to the good, the sweet, the absolutely surreal once he confessed his feelings for her. The last thing she wanted to do was lose that, to be reminded of her previous home.

_I just want to be strong._

_To not cry, to not feel._

_And I can't even do that much!_

Alistair said nothing more as she wept, but his hand found her shoulder. He gripped her there, his thumb firmly massaging the ball of her joint as her shoulder shook. After a time, he slid his palm across her shoulder blades to open his side to her, and she fell unceremoniously against his chest as she cried.

Alistair never hesitated, nor did he make her feel like a burden. He stayed seated at her side, his arm about her shoulders supporting her, until Eilwyn was all cried out.

Eventually she calmed. Her breathing came more and more deeply, her sobs tapering off into quiet whimpers, and then into nothing. Eilwyn was left sated, tired, and empty.

It was a relief.

It had been ages since she had cried like that, and it was apparently long overdue. The last time she could think of actively sobbing into her hands in such a manner was long before she’d even met Alistair. Back when that man named O’Connor, the Templar with the songs, had left her feeling truly alone for the first time in the tower.

She’d been scared and overwhelmed then, too, and had let herself dwell on that. For an entire day, Eilwyn had wallowed. She’d cried into her pillow and skipped two meals. She could recall being warned about such behavior by a senior enchanter, being advised that such emotional displays made Templars very nervous. She'd managed to still herself into merely weeping quietly into her pillows at night, until the ache in her chest turned to a dull throb, and then nothing.

Templars had treated her with kindness when she cried in a manner that was acceptable. She'd let it out in small bursts, had kept room in her heart for compassion and positivity because of it. But lately, faced with the kind of darkness she hadn't imagined in her wildest nightmares, Eilwyn felt like she couldn't cope. If she cried all the time, if she cried like this, wouldn't that draw unwanted attention?

_Suspicion._

Alistair had been right, more right than she cared to admit. Perhaps the Templar training he'd undergone had clued him in, however unfinished it was.

_"They don't make stupid Templars."_

In the Circle, shutting down was what one did. It was a signal for a senior mage to come to you, to advise you, and to keep you from displaying distress on a grand scale. But Eilwyn had never indulged in it. Note before Calenhad. Not before the first night at the Spoiled Princess. She'd always been encouraged to let out her sadness as it came, since she was so unable to lie convincingly about anything. Other apprentices had looked on her with either pity, or support, and Templars had considered her a soft-touch.

_Goody two-shoes._

They hadn't taken her very seriously, but it was for the best in the long run. She'd been a trusted member of the Circle, and became the person who would seek out those who shut down rather than doing it herself. She supposed she should thank the Maker she had, otherwise such outbursts as this would have landed her in very hot water.

_I learned that it's better to be labeled a baby than a threat._

The epiphany left her feeling drained and cold. She had never thought of it in those terms exactly until now.

Alistair's arm shifted, holding her closer, and Eilwyn nuzzled closer to his side. He was warm, his armor still holding a bit of heat from where he'd been sitting presumably by the fire before he came to find her. They stayed quiet in the wake of her catharsis, silent as the creek babbled past them, until Eilwyn found the nerve to speak.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

_Sorry for everything I am._

_Sorry for everything I'm trying to be._

_Sorry it's taking me this long to figure out._

“Me too.”

Alistair’s answer gave her pause.

What did _he_ have to be sorry for?

Eilwyn leaned against him, her palm against his breastplate, until he tighened his arm about her shoulder.

“I didn’t mean to make you cry,” he whispered brokenly.

“You didn’t! I promise."

He looked over at her with an absurdly cute look of disbelief. His squinted eyes made her laugh, and she hastened to clamber up against his chest so that she could look at him. As she did, Eilwyn caught sight of a glimmer in his own eyes.

An ache in her chest. Warm, pleasant, like mead and blankets and safety.

_I love him._

"If you say so." He shook his head. "I didn't manage to help any, though. That was the whole reason I came swooping."

“You did help," Eilwyn insisted. "More than you know."

He raised an eyebrow.

"I... I needed to get that out," she whispered. "You were right. That it… that I was holding onto it, I think.”

“Yeah?"

She nodded.

Alistair's gaze fled from hers, coming to rest briefly on her lips before he seemed to force himself to look her in the eye once more.

“I like that you feel things, Eilwyn,” he whispered. “It's not a weakness, you know.”

“Isn’t it?” she countered. She settled back against his chest and looked out at the creek, shuffling her legs closer so that one of her knees could rest over his. “You don’t see Wynne or Morrigan crying at the state of the world.”

Alistair snorted.

“Wynne has had years of practice. Decades, really. And furthermore, just because she doesn’t show her displeasure or her pain does not mean she doesn’t find a way to deal with it. Your way can be crying, and there’s no shame in that. Her way can be… whatever it is she does.”

“Mmm.”

Eilwyn had a hard time imagining herself in Wynne’s position. Her ability to roll with punches was something Eilwyn desperately wanted to emulate, but found she couldn’t. Not yet, at least. She nudged Alistair with her shoulder.

“How about Morrigan, then?”

“Morrigan just doesn’t feel anything,” Alistair said bluntly. "You never need to compare yourself to her. Not ever."

Eilwyn scoffed, but he didn’t elaborate. She assumed he fully believed it, but the thought left a grain of doubt in her mind. Morrigan must be like Wynne, just not dealing with her own pain in a way others got to see. Eilwyn had seen her being kind, in her own way. She had to have feelings in there, she just had to.

“So…” Alistair traced a palm up and down her arm, hugging her closer. “Are you feeling any better?”

_He's not wearing gloves._

“A little,” Eilwyn murmured, trying to ignore how good his hand felt on her muscles. She'd tensed her shoulders more than she'd realized.

“What would make you feel a _lot_ better?”

Eilwyn shrugged.

“Not having to go back to Calenhad,” she said archly.

“Okay. Then we don’t go back.”

She snorted again, but Alistair gave her a little squeeze.

“I’m serious. We’ve got more things we could do besides look for Brother Genitivi. The treaties still need to be gathered, we’re but a few turns from heading towards where the Dalish were last known to make camp.”

“But, I thought…" Eilwyn scrambled to gather her thoughts in the wake of this turn. "What about Arl Eamon? We need to find his knights, find the urn, and cure him.”

“Arl Eamon is…” Alistair sighed. “He’s in a safe place, with people who love him. His condition is not worsening, even though that’s not a surefire sign he’ll be alright. But venturing to the Dalish any later might prove difficult, if it turns out to be an early winter."

Eilwyn's brow ached with how tightly she was furrowing it, absolutely not certain why Alistair was taking her so seriously.

"Plus, there’s no real guarantee the ashes will cure him, you know," he added. "But we know for certain the treaties will give the Dalish cause to join us. Maybe it would be best to do something we know for sure will yield results .”

Eilwyn frowned at the implication that the Sacred Ashes weren't something he was willing to bet on. A thought occurred, small and diffident, that maybe Alistair was just as frightened about returning to his previous home as she was. It softened Eilwyn to a degree, and she moved closer to him to make sure he heard her clearly.

“Alistair. I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but I don’t want to derail us. Arl Eamon raised you, was good to you, and he means a lot to you,” she insisted. “I will not abandon-”

“You talk as if you don't mean a lot to me, too, magelet,” he whispered.

Before Eilwyn could say anything further, Alistair bent his head and tipped her chin up. He brushed a kiss across her lips, sweet and unassuming, and Eilwyn scarcely knew what to do with herself. He made to pull away, as if that were all he wished to do, but Eilwyn didn't let him. Drawn to his lips, she kissed him back. A thrum of desire split through her like a crack of lightning, digging its fingers into her residual sadness. At the caress of his thumb along the curve of her cheek, Eilwyn unconsciously let out a noise.

"Oh."

It must have spurred something within her warrior. Gently, slowly so that she could fight it if she wished, she felt Alistair slide his hand back into her tresses so that he was cupping her neck. As he kissed her, his other hand found her waist and slid across it. With a pull, a shuffle, and Eilwyn helping him with a bounce of her own as she twisted in his arms, Eilwyn found herself cradled across of Alistair’s lap.

Her hands found his neck, slipping up along his nape and tracing the shells of his ears. His hand at her neck roamed as well. Her bravery, her unabashed touch, seemed to spur him to do the same. Alistair drew his mouth in deliberate, affectionate strokes across her parted lips, and drew his hand down from her collarbone to rest on her hip. Eilwyn gasped at the sensation.

With one arm cradling her slanted across her back, and the other hand at her hip, Alistair had her completely at his mercy.

_I want that, too._

_I want him at mine._

She took advantage of the moment, upped the ante, and darted her tongue out to taste Alistair as he answered her noise with one of his own. The hand at her hip tightened, then dragged clawlike down the meat of her thigh. His fingernails pulled at the fabric of her robe, but it took that rough of a touch to penetrate the mail within the fabric.

It was just harsh enough to feel assertive, not frightening, and Eilwyn gave a groan as a pulse of arousal bloomed deliciously along her hips and belly. She moved intuitively, pressing forward into his chest even as she pulled him down to her, and Alistair’s arm tightened further. But then his hand slid up to grab her hip and waist once more, as if he was worried his touch on her thigh had been too much too soon.

_Does he want to slow down?_

When Alistair’s tongue caught hers, drawing hers into his own mouth with a little flick, Eilwyn saw stars and her worries were erased. Her fingers felt tingly, sparkling, as if she could not catch her breath and was on the verge of passing out. She tried to copy the dance of his mouth over hers, tried to follow where he was leading her, and she realized she was getting carried away when Alistair gave a low groan against her lips and fisted his hand in the fabric of her robes.

Without warning, they simultaneously broke the kiss. Panting slightly, staring at each other in the dark, Eilwyn and Alistair sat along the bank of the creek in one another’s arms until Eilwyn broke into a self-effacing smile.

“Remind me to cry more often.”

“Maker, please don't-”

“Joking,” she whispered, running her hand down from his jaw to where she could rest her palm along his jugular. She felt his pulse beating out against her skin, steady and fast, and she felt her heart answer in excitement within her own chest.

“How- how are you feeling?” he asked her in a stutter.

"How's my breathing, you mean?" she teased.

Alistair let out a helpless breath, as if the mere mention had reminded him to inhale and exhale, and Eilwyn licked her lips.

_I want to keep doing this._

_I had better_ _not_ _keep doing this, seeing as I can’t think of anything else when he’s kissing me._

_But still, I want to keep doing this._

“A lot better,” she settled on saying aloud.

“Good. So it’s decided then?”

“What is?”

“That we’ll go to the Brecilian forest before Calenhad, and focus momentarily on the treaties instead of the Urn. The treaties should be our main priority regardless, seeing as there is a Blight to contend with and all that.”

Eilwyn searched Alistair’s expression in the dark. He seemed absolutely serious, no joking about his features. His eyes were kind as ever, his mouth set. His expression softened when their gazes caught, and he gave her a gentle jostle in his lap.

“Your turn to say something, my dear,” he said.

She wanted to laugh, or maybe swat him away, but there was a deeper pull to his words than Eilwyn knew how to admit aloud. Something Morrigan had said to her stuck out starkly in her mind, something the witch had merely thrown across the breakfast table in passing. About how Eilwyn was the leader, probably in more ways than one. It discounted all that Alistair did for her, all his advice meant to her, and solidified her decision now.

_I want to follow him._

Eilwyn nodded.

“We’ll change our route to hike through the Brecilian forest,” she said. "Not out to the docks."

“There, see? That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

Eilwyn laughed, then pulled herself up so that she could hug Alistair about his neck. He returned the embrace, even moving his feet so that his legs would better allow for her to sit in his lap more comfortably.

“I'll try not to shut you out,” she whispered. “I just thought I was doing something right."

“It's never  _right_ for you to bear your feelings by yourself, if you don't want to.”

Eilwyn went to say something to that, but found her words were stuck in her throat. Tenderness rushed through her veins, an entirely new sensation than one she’d ever experienced. It seemed to go hand in hand with Alistair, though. It was the sensation of being wanted, being craved.

_I love this._

_I love him._

Unable to say anything aloud, she sighed against his temple and carded her hands through his hair and along his scalp. She felt Alistair kiss her along her neck, chaste little pecks that still managed to send sparks of excitement shooting down her body. Without meaning to, she ground her hips against him, just in an effort to get closer, and Eilwyn heard his muffled gasp as his hands tightened around her.

_Oh._

“We… um… we should…”

Alistair pulled away, presumably to tell her they had to get back to camp, but when their eyes met he let out a low exhale.

“Maker take me.”

He pulled her down into another kiss, one more urgent than the last. Instead of teasing touches, his tongue immediately parted her lips, and Eilwyn was left moaning at the taste of him and the feel of his teeth. His hands kept her crushed to his chest, one palm drawing perilously close to her arse as he massaged her thigh greedily.

Not to be outdone by him, keen to prove her innocence was not a shackle, Eilwyn threw one arm about his neck. Holding him against her as she kissed him in delirium, she trailed her other fingers down his chestplate to his arm. She grabbed his elbow and, before she could lose her nerve, nudged his arm so that his hand slid to fully cup her arse.

“Oh,” he moaned brokenly against her, his fingers flexing out of instinct and gripping her flesh hard. Eilwyn curved forward, pressing into him as much as she could, and she cursed the armor separating them.

Alistair’s hand massaged her once more, his grip firm, and then he pulled his hand to her thigh.

“We have to stop,” he whispered, his voice burning with need even as he brought his fingers up to Eilwyn’s cheek.

As if to steady them both. As if to make sure she was looking at him as he begged.

She shook her head, refusing, and he chuckled to himself.

“You don't want to stop, I take it?” Alistair asked.

“Why must we?” Eilwyn prompted back. "Are we not out of earshot of the others?"

He laughed again, seemingly caught off guard. Or perhaps he was nervous? He evaded her gaze, his voice immediately rising in pitch.

“Come on, Eilwyn. As if you really want me to paw at you like some sort of brute? Here? Out in the open, where it's cold?” he scoffed.

Eilwyn said nothing.

At her silence, Alistair’s lips parted in surprise, and he cut off whatever else he was going to say.

Aflame with power, with a sense of control, with how much she liked feeling desired by this man, Eilwyn brought her hand up to his.

"I'm not cold, Alistair," she murmured. After a little pause, one where she tried to work up the courage to say what she wanted, Eilwyn whispered, "Are you?"

Alistair's jaw clenched, and she could hear him swallow hard.

Holding his hand in place, Eilwyn let her eyelashes flutter closed and turned so that her lips could press into his bare palm.

She felt his fingers flex automatically, and she tested her limits. Daringly, she stuck out the tip of her tongue and traced a little line along the meat of Alistiar’s palm.

His skin tasted different than she thought it would. She’d expected nothingness, but there was a trace of salt. Up this close, the leather of his vambrace smelled slightly of flowers and sweat, an interesting and heady combination. She was so enveloped in detailing every smell and sensation that she almost didn’t catch the way Alistair let out a shaky groan at the touch of her tongue.

“Eilwyn,” he whispered.

It was a plea. A breath of want, but she couldn’t tell what he was asking for. To stop, still? To continue?

She turned, about to ask him what he meant, when he caught her lips with his once more.

Her breath was coming faster now, more rapid and intense. She felt Alistair pulling her up against him, her hips twisted at an awkward angle, and Eilwyn broke their kiss. He arched up to grab her to him once more, frantic in his own desires, and tugged her lips back down to his. Smiling against him, she pulled away only so that she could hike her skirts about her thighs. As she folded the heavy robe up and out of the way, she realized how indecent this act was.

But she had done this, hiked up her skirts without thinking, back in the Circle with Alistair. Back when they were just playing.

_It means that I shouldn’t be afraid._

_Andraste preserve me, I’m still a little afraid._

Fear, however, was balanced out by the knowledge that Alistair was with her. It was intoxicating, to do something she knew she shouldn’t, with an accomplice at her side. If it went too far, if it was too much, she knew he would stop her.

As soon as Eilwyn finished pulling her robe out of the way, Alistair seemed to understand what she was doing. He helped her adjust so that she could swing one leg over him, he leaned back so that she wouldn’t knee him in the chest as she did so, and then settled her down fully onto his lap with both hands at her waist. She straddled him fully, just as she had when threatening him with snow, but this time there was only heat beneath her fingers.

“Definitely not cold,” Alistair whispered finally, his expression pained.

Eilwyn giggled, a throaty noise, but could not allow herself to say a damned thing. Too much was running through her head at once.

_Want to touch you._

_Take your armor off._

_How far is too far?_

_Is this too fast?_

_I can't breathe right out of one nostril, from the crying, does he notice?_

Rather than speak, Eilwyn settled for trying to relax. It wasn't as if she hadn't done this before. It wasn't as if she hadn't easily pinned Alistair to the ground and sat deep on her hips, connecting them together like this.

_It's different now._

She grit her teeth against the sudden and exquisite pressure between her thighs. Only her leggings and smallclothes separated her body from his armor, and it was a thought she barely knew how to contend with. Her cheeks burned with shame, with want, and Eilwyn knew she was being salacious. She closed her eyes against whatever judgment might lie in Alistair’s, too nervous to watch him watch her.

“Is this… right?” Alistair whispered. "For you, I mean? Does this feel okay?"

Eilwyn’s eyes snapped open, and she found that Alistair was looking up at her in the dark with a wide-eyed expression of need.

_He…_

_He’s new to this too._

He was sitting with his legs crossed beneath her, and Eilwyn was arched slightly back so as not to push him entirely to the forest floor. Behind his shoulder, she could see the orangish glow of flames back beyond the treeline. She was certain that, if she suggested it, Alistair would be alright with heading back to camp and putting this off until a better time.

But she wasn’t about to suggest it. Instead, she smiled, hoping to reassure him as his presence reassured her. She trusted him, knew he trusted her, so she said the only thing she could think of.

“This is okay,” she whispered to Alistair, even though the indignity of admitting it aloud had her almost stammering. "This is more than okay."

She could feel heat radiating from her face, from her neck, even though the night was so cold she could see puffs of air clouding up between them as they spoke.

“What do you mean by… this?” he asked tentatively.

Eilwyn swallowed hard.

“Kissing,” she breathed. “Kissing, and… touching.”

“T-touching?”

Rather than repeat anything more aloud, fearing that her voice was going to fail her, Eilwyn drew her hands down Alistair’s arms. His hands were at her waist, and, without breaking eye contact with him, she slowly began to slide them down.

His expression was pained, and he bit down on his lower lip as his brow furrowed. But he did not pull away. His fingers relaxed as she let them rove over her hips, over her meager curves, and then she pushed his hands further. His large palms cupped her arse easily, covering her flesh so completely that Eilwyn let out a surprised gasp.

Alistair let his head drop forward to her shoulder, pushing Eilwyn back so far that she automatically scrambled to catch his neck with her arms lest she fall to the dirt. Her thighs tightened about his, and she felt him flex against her.

_Addictive._

_This is addictive._

Before her mind could come up with anymore feelings, Eilwyn had to bite down on the inside of her cheek to keep from crying out in surprised pleasure.

Alistair’s hands gripped her harder, hard enough for her to feel the massage deep in the flesh of her buttocks, and he pulled her to his lap with a gentle intensity that made it impossible to ignore how much he was enjoying this as well. The realization of Alistair's physical strain, the way their hips connected in such an obscene way through their clothes, made Eilwyn feel faint. She automatically tightened her embrace, their bodies moving together instinctively as they adjusted for comfort.

“Maker's breath,” Alistair whispered against her neck. His lips followed his words, trailing open-mouthed kisses along her jugular. "You don't know how long I've wanted to hold you, my dear."

"You wanted to hold me like this?" Eilwyn whispered, rolling her hips daringly against his.

Alistair let out a hiss, stilling her with one palm.

"No, just... in general," he stuttered, a chuckle on the edge of his words. "I never, ever expected to hold you like this."

"Ah."

Eilwyn pressed a kiss to his temple.

"You've always let me hug you, haven't you? You never turned me away."

"You make it hard to say no," he chuckled, and she shivered when his tongue found the crook of her neck and laved a smooth circle about her pulse.

"Is that a bad thing?" Eilwyn wondered aloud.

"Maker, no," Alistair whispered into her skin. "You're someone I want to protect, love."

"Love," she whispered into the night, her breath fogging about them, her words lost to the sky. Her hands at his body, drawing Alistair closer, Eilwyn marveled at the sensations, at how much more she wanted to feel in this moment.

She did not need to voice what she craved. It seemed that Alistair shared her desire, her conflict, and it bolstered them both. He lifted his face, tilting his chin to recapture her mouth with his, and Eilwyn let herself revel in the sensation.

As the creek babbled behind them, Eilwyn found her heart weighed considerably less. She opened to Alistair; to his hands as they roamed over her ribs and her back and her hips; to his mindful tongue that teased her into desperation; to the sweet attention he paid her, physical and beyond. Instead of focusing on the fear, the doubt, and the bad, Eilwyn let herself fall into the way Alistair wanted her.

For the first time since the Circle fell, since she had gone back, she felt something settle back into place within her soul.

_I needed this._

Whether it was affirmation, confidence, or merely a remnant of desire, Eilwyn could not say. But even when she and Alistair eventually stood and walked back to camp, hand in hand, their lips kissbitten and their bodies frightfully sensitive, she was not embarrassed. When Morrigan raised an eyebrow, when Zevran gave her a smirk, there was no shame. She bid her friends goodnight, kissed Alistair's knuckles, and then went to her bedroll as he settled to take first watch.

And with the crackle of the fire outside and the gentle conversation of her friends lulling her into a drowsy state of unconsciousness, Eilwyn drifted to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time isn't consistent in Origins, so it won't be in my fic either haha. I figure it's been between a week and a month that they've been done with the Circle. And Eilwyn never cried about it. Not once. Had you noticed?
> 
> Fullstop, I was much more dramatic when I was 17 - 20. I still, to this day, LOVE to flop when something upsets me. It's stupid, yes. But I feel better after ^^;; Those years were the worst for drama, too. Flopping on beds, crying over perceived unfairness, feeling judged by my friends for imaginary slights. I want to remember that about Eilwyn. She is, in many ways, still a teenager. Just one in charge of fighting off the Blight.
> 
> Also, our girl has this insatiable reaction to feeling wanted, and I love writing her with Alistair because of his own nervous/polite hesitance on the physical things. Their back and forth. Oof. What is even going through that boy's mind?
> 
> Gonna make for interesting times later on ₍₍ (ง ˙ω˙)ว ⁾⁾


	25. The Nights Grow Colder

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short interim chapter, to let you know what they're getting up to!

The air was crisp, biting out against their skin with teeth sharp for winter. The mornings revealed pristinely frosted grass that crunched as they lit their fire, and Eilwyn was grateful for the double layer of canvas they set up their tents with.

She’d been even more grateful that Zevran had seemed to take a proper shine to her lately. The talkative elf walked at her side, telling her stories of Antiva and recounting memories of his most unbelievable missions as Leliana scouted the path ahead. It was strange and delightful, to have a male friend. It reminded Eilwyn a bit of Jowan, how tongue-in-cheek Zevran was.

_Maybe seeing the Dalish, talking with the hunters, made him feel more comfortable._

When they broke for meals, Alistair would take the seat to one side of her while Zevran took the other. During those moments, as they scrambled to down their stew while it was still warm, Alistair would play word games.

Sometimes the game involved finding objects around them that followed the letters of the alphabet.

_A was easy, he just said Amell and pointed at me, the big cheat. For B, C, D, it was all easy._

_Why did I have to be the one to get stuck with Q?_

Sometimes the game was to think of an object and then answer twenty or so yes-or-no questions as the other party members tried to ascertain said object. When Morrigan teased about using scrying bones to divine the answer, Alistair's eyes narrowed, and he seemed fed up with the game overall.

But sometimes, when Eilwyn took out her herbalism journal in the quiet of the afternoon to detail their progress, the rest of the group would leave to go about their business. She would be left alone, with Alistair, and he would sit directly behind her. He would press his chest to her back, hold her shoulders or her waist or her hips, and lay on her as a cat might.

It wasn't sensual, not truly. The first time he'd done it, Eilwyn had asked him if he was feeling okay, if he was feverish. Alistair had shaken his head and nuzzled her closer.

"I just want to be close to you sometimes," he'd said softly.

She'd quietly consented, because she would be lying if she didn't feel the same. As fun as it was to hear about Antivan fashion trends, or to listen to history and song, it was only when the group fell silent and Alistair's hand found Eilwyn's to grab that she felt truly at ease.

_I want him so much._

_We haven't had much of a chance to do... anything... since entering the forest._

_Long kisses stolen away in the dark away from the party are more dangerous now, and we can't afford to put ourselves or our friends at risk._

_But the way he touches me..._

_He must want me, too._

Alistair rarely kissed her in front of the other party members, so Eilwyn figured that this was his form of undivided affection. It was less blatant than the way he'd professed to her in the tavern room, it was less heated than the way he'd kissed her and pulled her against his hips by the creek outside of Denerim. But it was beautiful, and comforting regardless. It promised his undivided affection, once they were in a safer place.

Even though it held no latent heat, no smoldering passion, it ignited Eilwyn all the same. Having Alistair so close made her want to huff in frustration when he broke their connection, and she deliberately drew out tasks during her downtime so that he wouldn't move from her side.

It made darning her ripped clothes take twice as long, but the feeling of his chest steadily rising and falling against her back made it worthwhile.

In the absence of more unadulterated physical touch, it was enough to keep her sustained. At night, she dreamed of summer and sun-kissed skin, of bronze shoulders glistening from waterfall spray and a line of muscles accentuated by a thin trail of golden hair leading ever downwards.

Eilwyn felt like a woman quietly obsessed. She would go to bed with Alistair on her mind, and wake with thoughts of what to do to keep him near throughout the day. Even when he was forced to bring up the rear to make sure they weren't being followed, even when they had to part ways when their watches didn't overlap, just knowing he was near was enough to steel her resolve.

And to encourage her fantasies.

Her mind grew bolder, more exploratory. At night, when she was trying to keep from shivering under her covers, she would warm herself with thoughts of how it might feel to undress in front of him. She wondered if he would help her, if his big hands would trip on the laces of her breeches or if his fingers would be deft and quick.

_He undid his gauntlets really quickly in the Circle._

_I bet he would do the same with my clothes._

Her fantasies never got much further than this. Even with a secondary layer to the canvas, the tents were so thin that she worried any shift in her breath would give her arousal away. Frustrated and determined to ignore the urge to tuck a pillow between her knees and grind herself to release, it was no wonder she dreamed of swimming.

In the dark forest, surrounded by the frozen bronze of trees that were slowly curling their leaves into husks, Eilwyn silently yearned for summer heat.

But this was neither the time, nor the place.

As they moved past the sparseness of the edge of the forest into the true thick of it, their group seemed to reorganize itself. It was unspoken, the response to the palpable tension of being nestled within trees. No longer did Zevran stay with Leliana and Eilwyn at the head of the pack; he chose instead of bring up the rear with Sten and Alistair. He said something about “keeping an eye on them”, but Eilwyn got the strange sensation of it being something more. She began to feel watched, uneasy, and like the forest was considerably less welcoming than the first week had led her to believe.

It was also so much bigger than she had anticipated. Were it not for Sten's acute sense of the land, for the way Morrigan and the Qunari warrior advised the group on where to go when the paths diverged or turned out to be overgrown, Eilwyn would have been lost after the first day.

_Maybe they should be at the front, in my stead._

_If Morrigan were more tactful, she'd make a strong leader._

Such thoughts caused Eilwyn a weird sense of personal discomfort. Self-doubt was not unfamiliar to her, but she knew herself to be capable now. Rather than focusing on her shortcomings, she made herself useful by rereading through her old herbalism notes. There were times when she read her recipes aloud, had Wynne critique them and shift them to fit the ingredients they had, and at night she brewed potions in a miniature pot on the edge of the embers. She contented herself to Leliana’s company and tried to ignore the way the days were becoming shorter and shorter, and she made sure her party was well-stocked with all manner of concoctions.

Sten had never complained of his elbow hurting him, for instance. But after fighting off a pack of rabid wolves, Eilwyn saw him favoring his non-dominant hand as he cleaned his armor that night. She gave him a tincture she'd developed in the Circle, one she'd refitted to use crystal grace in place of rashvine nettle, and he'd raised his eyebrow at it as if he didn't believe it would work. She never saw him drank it, but the following day when they were ambushed by bandits, Eilwyn saw his dominant arm was swinging just as powerfully as ever.

Their eyes met after the bandits had been felled. Sten only gave Eilwyn a nod, but it felt like the largest approval she'd gained from the Qunari yet. It bolstered her, just as the oncoming winter intimidated her.

Even though the trees had initially cut the wind down and provided almost a layer of warmth, the temperature was still dropping steadily with every day. Soon the lack of sunlight, even as the sparse rays filtered through the skeletal fingers of bare tree branches, was not enough to bring them peace once night fell.

The weather was getting to the point where energy exerted setting up each individual’s tent did not balance out the energy they gained from sleeping in them; the nights were cold enough that even layering all the blankets they had were sometimes not enough, and Eilwyn woke up on more than one occasion to join whoever was on watch by the fire. 

It would only get worse. Ferelden was beautiful, but it was gnarled and rough as well, and winter would be no different than anything else found in its land. So, before supper one night, the women began to discuss tent plans. Everyone seemed to be amenable to grouping together to conserve body warmth, except for Morrigan.

“I do not need a tent in the first place,” the witch said blithely. “Do not include me in such decisions.”

She pulled her cloak tighter about herself, a flinty look in her eye as she glanced at the other women around the fire.

“Do you sleep as an animal, then?” Leliana asked gently. “Like, you turn into a fluffy little lynx and curl up by the fire?”

Eilwyn could tell the question was a genuine one, but she winced regardless. Morrigan sucked a tooth.

“No,” the witch said. “If anything, I turn into a bear to unleash the frustrations you bestow so generously upon me throughout the day.”

“Oh.” Leliana frowned, then turned to Eilwyn. “Lynx are cuter, though, don’t you think?”

Morrigan rolled her eyes so hard that Eilwyn thought for a shocking second she was going to pass out.

“Regardless, do not include me in your plans for winter.”

“Come on,” Leliana said. “We’ve traveled together for months now, we’re used to one another-”

“'Tis not out of some false sense of modesty that I insist upon this,” Morrigan snapped. “I feel that I have more discipline and means to survive than the rest of our party, and we should not waste resources in setting up a separate tent to account for my comfort.”

"You really think you could brave the frost and snow without any protection?" Wynne asked softly.

"Yes," Morrigan said firmly.

"You cannot be that stubborn."

“Oh? I came of age within the wilds, explored it as you would a house with many mysterious rooms. T'was never a danger to me, not even during the cold. I would venture to say this is not stubbornness, 'tis confidence."

"But you had a house, then," Eilwyn said. "Surely you-"

"I would be willing to bet that I will complain the least out of all of us this winter, even without a tent." Morrigan shot a glance to the side. "Save for perhaps our Qunari friend.”

Everyone glanced over their shoulders to where Sten was meditating under a willow tree far from the fire. The creek that they were following had ice about its edges, but his knees stayed in the dirt stalwart and steady. His hands were folded in his lap, fingers relaxed and at peace. He didn’t even shiver. Were it not for the even puffs of breath emanating from his nostrils at regular intervals, Eilwyn would have worried he’d frozen solid.

“You can share a tent with me, if you ever change your mind,” Eilwyn offered, drawing the group’s attention back to the topic at hand. “I won’t talk much. And you can stay up reading if you want, I can fall asleep easily to candlelight.”

Morrigan’s head was tilted down towards the fire, but her bright golden eyes were trained on Eilwyn. Eilwyn felt like she was being assessed by a wolf, when she knew intrinsically it was her friend. The danger, the suspicion within Morrigan’s gaze was never truly gone. Even when Eilwyn gave her necklaces she’d found, when she stayed up to ask her advice on maintaining concentration and focus, Morrigan always seemed to want to keep her distance.

_Trust issues._

_If I had a mother like Flemeth, I would probably be similar._

_In a way, I'm lucky my mother merely gave me away._

“It’s just a thought,” Eilwyn said, not wanting to pressure her friend further. She also wanted to be done with such a stare. With a harsh pat on both of her knees, Eilwyn sighed resolutely. “For now, I think the women are small enough that we can lay three to a tent.”

“I do not mind snuggling if you don’t,” Leliana said with a happy grin.

Wynne seemed happy to be included, but at the same time seemed distracted by something. Her lips were draw in a thin line, and her brow had a crease in the center as if she'd been furrowing it unconsciously throughout the day. She had been quiet, true. Eilwyn went to ask her if she was alright, but then Leliana giggled and startled them all.

“Sorry,” Leliana chuckled. “I just realized that Zevran and Alistair will be sharing a tent.”

“Is that strange?”

“Have you not been listening to the two of them the past few days?” Leliana asked, cocking her head towards Eilwyn.

“No, I’ve been up at the front, with you.”

Leliana laughed.

“Even I could hear the subjects they took to discussing, dear one.” She tried to contain her smirk, and failed. “You should open your ears when they turn in for the night, see if you can’t hear for yourself.”

“I can’t do-”

“Oh. I see now.” It sounded as if Wynne had been trying to remember what Leliana was referencing, and only just now recalled it. “Yes, that… will be interesting, to say the least.”

“Provided the ever-vigilant senior Grey Warden condescends to sleep with an assassin in the first place,” Morrigan interjected, sarcasm coating her every singsong word.

“Is that what’s so funny?” Eilwyn asked, a smile on her lips even though she didn’t understand the joke. “I mean, I know it's a bit strange since Zevran tried to kill us, but I thought Alistair had gotten past that.”

"No," Leliana said. "But don't you think he'd rather share with someone else?"

"I don't know that he's much closer with Sten," Eilwyn replied, confusion lowering her tone.

Her three friends glanced at one another, and Morrigan heaved a belabored sigh as if she was about to explain something fundamental that Eilwyn should already know.

"What?" Eilwyn asked, her tone slightly more whiny than she had intended for it to be.

Before she could say anything further, however, Zevran piped up from where he was setting snares for their supper.

“You women are all incorrigible gossips,” he called. “Even you, Eilwyn. Tsk, tsk tsk. Someone should punish you for having such a tongue.”

Eilwyn swallowed hard, taken aback by the lascivious hint in Zevran’s words.

_That’s… new._

“Stop eavesdropping,” Leliana answered, her tone prickly.

“You know, when you caw so loudly it tends to attract the attention of crows, my dear,” Zevran said, striding over and sitting down opposite them with a flourish. “You are lucky the object of your giggling is not around to hear you. You know how sensitive Alistair is about such things.”

“He’s within his rights to be. I wouldn’t want to be talked about in my absence either,” Eilwyn said.

“It is not that, little dove,” Zevran said as he cracked each of his knuckles in turn. “Alistair is not fond of conversations that focus on the subject of your… how did he say it? Noodling?”

“ _Ca_ noodling,” Leliana supplied.

"We weren't even talking about that!" Eilwyn sputtered.

“Right. You were discussing me in his tent."

"Is that so strange to suggest?" Eilwyn asked, a frown making her lower lip pout outwards. "Why do you bring up canoodling, Zev?"

"Do not give me that look, lady Warden!" Zevran chuckled. "It is nothing untoward, I assure you."

"Then tell me why you brought it up."

The elf looked bemused, and mischievous. Eilwyn had a sinking feeling he was enjoying drawing this out, enjoying the way she was caught on a thread of his words. Leliana had gone off to get water to fill a pot for the stew, but both Morrigan and Wynne were watching Zevran with equal suspicion. The elf merely laughed at the combined stare of all three of the mages.

"Alistair and I have merely been in the process of discussing your relationship over the past couple of days. He is, by and large, strangely embarrassed by such things. He may have, ah, gotten a bit defensive today.”

“Why?” Eilwyn asked. "And what you do mean by 'such things'?"

_He isn't embarrassed by me._

_... is he?_

Zevran gave a rich chuckle.

“Do not worry, my friend. I merely suggested-”

A twig cracked and everyone froze, turning towards where McWhistle was snuffling around on the outskirts of camp further south. From where they were set up, trees surrounded them on all sides, and an ambush was unlikely but possible. Eilwyn watched Zevran’s ear prick, and she was reminded almost unkindly of how a cat listens. Blushing fiercely, she got to her feet and scanned the edge of the forest for signs of who approached.

“-bloody damp is what they are,” Alistair was saying. “Going to smoke like hell. Hopefully it won’t add too much flavor to the rabbits. If we get rabbits. Maker, I hope there are rabbits in this… hey! Where are you going! I was talking to you!”

McWhistle had the decency to look back and give Alistair one encouraging bark before bounding up to Eilwyn's side.

“Look. It’s Alistair,” Eilwyn said to the group, subtlety not exactly her strong suit in the wake of such a strange, oddly personal conversation.

_It’s time to shut up now._

“Our prince returns. Do tell him I said hello, would you, little dove?” Zevran drawled, raising an eyebrow at Eilwyn before she turned on her heel from the fire.

Striding over to where Alistair was barely within earshot-

_I hope, anyway._

-she leaned down to pat McWhistle as he jumped up and down excitedly near her hip.

“Eilwyn. Did you miss me?” Alistair asked.

“No. I mean, yes, I did, but you weren’t gone for that long,” Eilwyn stammered, laughing. “Why?”

“Oh, no reason. You merely look as if you are in dire need of being kissed,” he said, his voice a low purr.

_Sounds like something Zevran would say._

Eilwyn beamed despite the strange, intrusive thought, then brought one hand up to cover her smile as she nodded.

“Very much so,” she murmured, standing on her tiptoes to kiss him over the firewood he was cradling in his arms.

They couldn’t draw close, not with the way the bundles of sticks in his arms separated them, but it made the embrace no less sweet. Alistair sighed against her skin, and Eilwyn felt his lips curve in a small smile as he brushed his mouth along hers. When his tongue touched the tip of her upper lip, begging to be taken in deeper, Eilwyn broke the kiss with a reluctant throat-clear.

“So you’ve… you’ve got firewood.”

“I do,” Alistair said, his voice low and teasing. “How observant of you!”

“No rocks to distract you?”

“No,” he twisted his lips into a mock scowl. “Only trees, trees, and more trees. None of them dead enough to snap apart easily, most of them wet. These logs are probably crawling with worms.”

“Charming,” Eilwyn said, grimacing in the dark.

“It’ll add to the flavor."

"Stop! I'll be sick!"

"Do they not have that in the Circle?" Alistair teased, shooting her a devious little smirk that made her knees feel weak. "You’ve never heard of smoked worms adding just that little something extra to a party’s roast rabbit?”

Eilwyn pretended to gag, and Alistair laughed out loud.

"Don't worry," he said. "I'll shake as many nasties loose as possible before I toss the logs onto the fire. For the most part, they're just damp, not infested."

"Mmm," Eilwyn nodded, hugging her cloak tighter about herself for lack of anything better to do. "That's... good."

They were quiet for a moment, until Alistair nudged her foot with his.

“Something on your mind, my dear?”

_Yes._

“No. Why do you ask?”

"You came bounding over to me, I just thought you might have wanted to talk," Alistair leaned forward and lowered his voice. "Away from the others."

"Oh, that... ah..."

"Do you wish for another kiss?" he suggested. "Your desire is my command. You have only but to ask."

"Yes, but, I," Eilwyn flushed at the flirting, absolutely caught off guard and loving every minute of it. Even so, her mind wouldn't let go of what Zevran had hinted at right before she'd come over. She was certain it showed in her face, based off of the way Alistair was looking at her now.

He narrowed his eyes at her in the dark, and Eilwyn prayed he couldn’t see her jaw muscles twitch nervously. She grit her teeth for a moment, trying to quell the mess of thoughts in her brain.

_Zevran seems to like you._

_But you don't like when he talks about me._

_And somewhere in there is something funny?_

_Apparently?_

“It's nothing. Really,” she said, trying to distract him. “Want to go back to the fire with me? We can talk about our sleeping arrangements for the night.”

She was close enough to watch his eyes widen in the dark, to see the way Alistair’s lips immediately thinned as he pressed them tightly together.

“I, um…” Alistair’s voice grew soft, and he cleared his throat while shuffling the bundles of twigs in his arms. “I don’t know how comfortable I would feel with that, actually.”

Eilwyn's heart sank, like a ball of ice dropping to the center of her stomach.

"You... don't want to share a tent?"

"It's not that I don't want to," Alistair stuttered, and Eilwyn marveled at how absolutely she'd failed at reading the situation properly.

_Does he hate Zevran that much?_

She interrupted him, talking over him to the point where she wondered if he could even catch her words. She sure was not able to understand what he was mumbling, so she just kept going and hoped for the best.

"That's perfectly fine! Morrigan refused to share a tent, so Leliana and Wynne will stay with me. There will be several left over, do not feel pressured to share with anyone if you don't want to,” Eilwyn blurted hastily. “But if you're just uncomfortable with Zevran, you can tell me. If he said something, or did something, to make you feel strange, we can figure something else out.”

At some point as she babbled, Alistair had fallen silent and watched her with what looked like apprehension in the dark. Now, he coughed out a laugh of surprise.

“Oh. With… Zevran! Right,” Alistair stammered. “That's what you meant. Because… winter. Right, yes."

"Wait." Eilwyn's brow knit together, suspicion lacing her words. "What did you think I meant?"

"Nothing. You look cold, magelet, we should... um... go by the fire, right? With the others?”

He began to make his way over to the rest of the group, beckoning her over with a tilt of his head. For the second time in only a few minutes, Eilwyn wondered what exactly she was not getting. It left her feeling helpless and funny inside, and she didn't appreciate it.

Unable to quite parse out why Alistair had looked so nervous, she sighed and followed him to the already waning flames.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One day Eilwyn's going to learn to pick up social cues.  
> But today is not that dayyyyyy~  
> ┐('～`；)┌
> 
> I have the next part written out, but cannot decide how I feel about it, so you get this little blorp where neither Alistair nor Zevran's discomfort is explained. Maker have mercy haha.
> 
> LITTLE ASIDE: Morrigan never wanted to like Eilwyn.
> 
> My mage is everything Morrigan says she doesn't respect. Eil's humble to the point of being self-effacing, she loved the Circle, and she hangs with Alistair lol. But at some point, I don't know why, Eilwyn deliberately did everything she could to make sure Morrigan felt included and respected. Even so, Morrigan's probably not happy with how Eilwyn wriggled into her space though. Like a puppy you insist you aren't going to love, and one day you're going to take back to the shelter. But then suddenly the puppy's a dog that you're willing to pay thousands of dollars to save when it stupidly eats a bag of balloons, and you'll fight anyone who suggests just putting them down.
> 
> Ahem. That train of thought got away from me. But regardless, Eilwyn + Morrigan = getting there.
> 
> Further updates to come! Wish me luck on continued packing, it's all coming together and looking solid for a good, painless move!!


	26. Love And Loss

It felt heavier than it should have, the gauzy fabric Eilwyn was turning in her hands. It was warm but made from something lightweight, with tensile strength that far outdid her Circle robes. She wondered vaguely if, upon returning, she might work with the local craftsmen to better outfit herself for winter.

She pressed down the urge to be sick.

Beyond the desire for new armor was a lamenting grief she felt at the edge of her mind. She was trying to avoid it, trying to partition her mind to ignore it, but couldn't seem to totally keep it from surfacing. Eilwyn was dreading the conversation she’d have to have upon returning to the Dalish camp.

_“Give him my love.”_

Zevran was watching her from across the fire, his breathing slow and foggy in the chilled morning air. They were camped along the edge of a ridgeline, one Eilwyn had stopped by in order to allow Morrigan time to research a tombstone they'd stumbled across. It was growing cold, coldest before the sunrise, and frost lined the canvas of their tents. A few stray snowflakes fluttered to the ground, melting upon impact, the air teasing them with what dangers were to come.

“You know,” Zevran said softly, “we do not have to tell him.”

Eilwyn glanced up at him with hurt written plainly in her eyes.

“I will not lie to him, Zev.”

_Not about something like this._

“He will not know if you do or don’t,” Zevran continued. “Maybe it will ease his heart to wonder, to hope she is alive, rather than-”

“Could you really do that?” Eilwyn interrupted. “Give him false hope that his loved one still lives? Somewhere in the forest? Or worse, that we just never found her, didn’t bother to look hard enough?”

Zevran fell still, then shrugged.

“I would not suggest you do something that I could not. So, yes. I could.”

Eilwyn’s brow furrowed.

“Why does this request trouble you, dove?” he asked. "Surely you have lied in order to minimize hurt before."

Eilwyn shrugged.

"In your Circles, you never fudged the truth with a Templar to get them to leave you be? A little white lie in order to help a friend?"

Eilwyn blushed.

_He doesn't know much about Jowan._

_Of course he'd think I would lie to help my friends._

_Would he be disappointed if he knew what I did?_

"What makes this situation so different from those, then?" Zevran finished, without allowing her time to answer.

She looked down at her lap, at the scarf Danyla had asked Eilwyn to give to Athras.

It was beautiful, like the sacrifice Danyla had made was beautiful. When she'd asked Eilwyn to kill her, to put her out of her misery, there was such a strong disagreement within Eilwyn's chest that she'd said no at first. But then she'd heard Danyla's growls, her labored breathing, had seen the poor beast's haunches trembling in pain and watched the way her snout and lips dribbled spittle along the packed, cold dirt beneath her crumpled form.

She'd agreed, then.

Eilwyn had even moved forward to exact a merciful killing blow herself, but Zevran had stepped in to stop her. It had been... a tense moment, to say the least. Eilwyn had demanded to be the one to do it, even as tears had clouded her eyes.

_Zevran didn't want to say it, but he looked worried._

_For me? Or for poor Danyla, dying at my clumsy hand?_

In the end, she'd surrendered the blade. After encouragement from Alistair, she had even felt some sort of relief. What had he told her? That it was 'admirable' she wanted to do it in the first place. Instead of letting Eilwyn try her hand at her first execution, the party unanimously had elected Leliana to make it clean. It had been quick and relatively painless, a death that Leliana could guarantee and that Eilwyn could not have.

Staring at the blurring periwinkle and gold filigree cloth in her lap now, Eilwyn still wished she’d been the one to insist on doing it. She felt responsible regardless. Maybe she would feel less so if she'd been the one to release Danyla from her torment, instead of standing back watching her die alone, her own hands clasped at the arm of the man she loved.

“I know we don’t know either of them, not really,” Eilwyn said, dragging the back of her glove across where the tip of her nose was beginning to leak. “But it was the last thing Danyla wanted.”

“And you feel you must fulfill a promise to a dead woman?”

Eilwyn nodded, wondering why Zevran seemed to think that was absurd.

He heaved a sigh and leaned forward to throw a small log to the side of the fire to warm.

“He might be angry with you,” Zevran said, and Eilwyn furrowed her brow as she listened. “Should he attack you in his grief, promise me that you will not take his blows simply because you feel his pain.”

Eilwyn swallowed hard.

_Is that why he wants me to lie?_

_To keep Athras from hurting me?_

“I don’t think it will come to that,” she evaded, “but if it does, you’ll be there to protect me. Won’t you?”

Zevran glanced up with a smirk, one eyebrow raised.

“ _Obviamente,_ lady Warden,” he said. “What else am I here for?”

They lapsed into silence, then. Over the course of dawn, the snow stopped falling, making way for grey sunlight to shimmer deceptively through the trees. There was no warmth in this light, no heat with the day, and it felt oddly prophetic. As the party awoke, Eilwyn set about making breakfast, anxious for something to do with her hands besides petting the scarf in her lap.

* * *

"Aren't the halla majestic?" the elf at her right whispered.

Eilwyn was leaning on the fence post with both forearms, watching them grazing, trying to get the conversation with Athras out of her head. As a halla calf bumped into its mother’s back haunch, eliciting another grunting squeak, Eilwyn sighed.

"They're certainly cute," she allotted.

The elf patted her on the shoulder, whether from gratitude at the compliment or from some uncanny sympathy Eilwyn had no idea. Eilwyn rested her fingers against the girls' for a brief moment, but then the shepherd was called away by a bleating cry from the baby in the pen. She left Eilwyn truly alone, standing at the fence, contemplating and rethinking everything she'd said only a few moments before.

_Danyla sends her love._

Maybe Zevran had been right. Athras' face had fallen when he'd seen the scarf, when he'd heard that Danyla would have rather died. He seemed to be proud of her, even in his grief, and that overt show of blind love tore at Eilwyn's heart so deeply. When he'd handed her a lovely carved pendant of two birds chasing one another, she'd almost been unable to accept.

It was held tight in her palm now, digging into her flesh as she clenched her fist, its glossy wood sturdy and unbreakable.

_Like love, in a lot of ways._

Nestling further into her forearms, Eilwyn shuddered at the darkness something like that must leave behind. She couldn’t help but imagine what life would be like if one of her companions fell.

_No... not if one of them falls._

_If Alistair falls._

The thought alone gave her a nauseated, anxious feeling, as if her heart was beating so rapidly and out of rhythm that it would simply stop from exhaustion. She groaned and pushed her forehead against her leather gauntlets, trying to block out the pain of such a potential loss. It felt cheap, to hurt for a possibility that might not even happen, merely because she'd seen Athras hurt.

_It’s what Wynne warned against._

_Falling in love, because the loss would be so much greater._

_If I lose him now, I don't know what I would do._

In a lot of ways, she also envied Athras and Danyla. As sick as it was, their courtship, their love, had done so much that she would never get to with Alistair. She assumed they courted one another. They had probably had time to stay up late in the night, looking at stars, without the tickle of darkspawn presence at the back of their mind. Without nightmares of an ever-present archdemon sending them vaulting awake. Athras could have talked with Danyla's parents. Danyla could have entertained the idea of having children someday.

She stayed there, consumed with jealous thoughts, consumed with guilt for being jealous of a dead woman, until she was too cold to linger. She returned to the group with numb fingertips, her gloves pathetic at keeping out the chill. They were made for enhancing her spells, not keeping her digits warm.

_Function over function._

_Sacrificing warmth for war._

_How fitting._

She could feel her thoughts spiraling into a bad place, into a frustrated place, and she tried to will herself not to shut down. Alistair had asked her that, so she needed to try. Even if it meant crying later, or venting everything to Leliana, or asking Sten to spar her so she could unleash some of this impotent anger at the world.

Approaching her companions, seeing the way their faces lit up at the sight of her, mollified the tension in Eilwyn a bit.

The hunters were gathered about the fire, cleaning their kills, with Sten and Zevran in charge of spitting the rabbits. The Antivan waved over at her with a stick, looking like an apprentice practicing his spells. It made Eilwyn grin weakly, and she waved back when Sten nodded his acknowledgement of her. Morrigan was speaking in hushed tones to one of the elvhen women, gesturing to a few dried plants folded into a handkerchief of hers. When Eilwyn walked past, Morrigan gave her a terse little smile.

It was a strange expression for the witch to wear, but for someone who only ever smirked caustically to begin with, Eilwyn counted it as a victory. She smiled back at her, then moved along so as not to interrupt what looked like advice on exchanging herbal ingredients in one of Eilwyn's own recipes.

_Can't believe Morrigan wants to share my recipes in the first place._

The thought lifted her spirits considerably. Morrigan had seen her journal, seen the way she'd been experimenting at every opportunity, and had commended her for it. Even if Morrigan's way of doing so was by critiquing the ever-loving piss out of every herbal combination Eilwyn came up with.

For the good of their cause and companions, Eilwyn bore it happily. It was rather touching seeing Morrigan so devoted to improving her brews, if Eilwyn was being honest, and the witch had such good plant sense that it would have been shooting herself in the foot to dissuade such advice. Hopefully being among the Dalish would do the same for them, bolstering their meager means.

Eilwyn was making her way over to where Leliana was sitting with Wynne and a group of what looked to be Dalish children, distracted by this thought, when a hand at her waist made Eilwyn flinch.

She turned, and was met with bright golden eyes glimmering with mirth.

“Hey,” Alistair said, but his smile waned at her stricken expression. “Are you… are you alright? Did I scare you?”

“F-fine,” she stammered. "Just a bit cold."

He looked as if he didn’t believe her, but when she raised herself on her tiptoes and kissed the corner of his mouth, Alistair mollified. Keeping his hand at her waist, he led her to her seat by the fire, where Leliana was trading a song with the Dalish storyteller.

"We need to get you new gloves, my dear."

"They're low on the priority list," she answered, slipping her fingers through his. "Especially when I can just do this to warm them."

Alistair blushed, but his smile was truly enough to heat Eilwyn's skin, joking aside.

When they sat down, she expected him to let her fingers go, but he tightened his grip. She sat close to him on the overturned log near Leliana, practically on his lap. As their bard tuned her instrument to a new key and began to sing a lovely little lullaby, Eilwyn let her head flop softly against Alistair's cloaked shoulder.

Wordlessly, he returned the gesture, leaning his cheek onto her part as they both gazed out above the fire and listened to the song.

It wasn't about apple trees, but it was just as sad, and just as lovely. Eilwyn closed her eyes at the chorus, trying to memorize the way Alistair's palm pressed against hers in moments just like this.

* * *

After supper, and after mapping out more of the forest as best they could with the Dalish hunters who'd ventured farthest into the trees, everyone seemed to be incredibly exhausted. It would be the first time in a long time where they wouldn’t have to post watch, where everyone could sleep all at once if they chose. The hunters had reassured them the perimeter was secure, and that the Wardens and company could rest easily.

Eilwyn hadn’t felt so relieved in a long while. It would be nice to crawl into her pile of furs and blankets and collapse until morning. And so, as the night fell darker and darker about them, as they began to trickle away to set up their tents on the edge of the camp, she stood to join her companions.

She almost made it, too. Were it not for a certain former-Templar curtailing her as she walked.

Alistair pulled Eilwyn aside with surprising need. His hand was tight about her wrist, his steps were insistent and his stride long, and for a moment Eilwyn thought she was in trouble.

_Absurd._

_In trouble?_

_With Alistair?_

_Like I’d ever-_

He was kissing her before she realized it, before she could suppress a helpless gasp.

His lips moved against hers with an uncharacteristic insistence, his tongue parting her lips as one of his palms came up to cradle the nape of her neck. Alistair pulled her backwards, and she stumbled along with him, her feet tangling with his ankles as they moved. He bumped into a tree, letting out a surprised grunt as he did so, and their eyes flew open in mutual surprise.

They were just a few paces away from where the rest of the party had been walking along a cut trail; they remained just within the Dalish camp’s boundaries while still being in the shadows. It was cold, but the way Alistair held her, the way the cloak he wore fell over his armor, Eilwyn felt incredibly warm.

“What are we doing?” she breathed.

“I don’t know,” Alistair answered her, and she gasped with he trailed one hand up and down her spine in a long caress. “I just… needed to be with you. Like this.”

“Against a tree?”

“Yes. I mean, not necessarily, but… yes.”

He sounded distraught, as if he was fighting off every word, or trying to find a better way to explain himself and failing. Eilwyn felt his hands clench in the fabric of her robes, an unconscious flex that signaled he was more nervous than he was letting on.

Or perhaps more aroused.

That thought alone had Eilwyn’s lips parting in a languid smile, even as her heart thumped anxiously within her chest.

“Well then. Your desire is my command,” she whispered, repeating the cute phrase he teased her with out in the field.

As if he couldn't resist any longer, Alistair dipped his head back to hers.

She tasted sadness behind his lips. It was hard to pinpoint, but it was there, familiar from the time she'd cried by the creek. There was demand behind his gentleness, and she got the impression he was seeking something from her, something maybe he didn’t quite know how to ask for.

_Is he sad?_

_Is he worried for me, for the way I went off on my own?_

Eilwyn’s heart broke at the idea of it, and she snaked her arms about his neck to pull him down harder against her. Alistair curved against the front of her, their bodies flush together, their moans breathless and almost-silent. Her hands traced the line of his jaw, memorizing it, cataloguing the way his stubble felt and the way his cheekbone curved. Her fingers found his ears, memorizing the angles of his ears and the dip of his-

Eilwyn gasped aloud, her heart beating out fierce and excited.

Alistair’s hand was at the front of her robe, his palm sliding up along her ribcage, his fingers roaming greedily over one of her breasts.

She dropped her hands to his shoulders, to give him easier access but also because she didn’t know where this eagerness stemmed from. His thighs flush against hers like this, their breaths catching on one another’s gasps, it was all she ever wanted.

_Well…_

_Not all._

Alistair tried to break the kiss, as if a moment of hesitation had managed to override whatever confidence he’d just been embodying.

“Is this-”

“Yes,” Eilwyn answered against his lips, deepening the kiss before he could doubt himself further.

Spurred onward by her willingness, Alistair seemed to relax. His fingers gentled, his palm turning to better cup her breast through her robes as he kneaded her sensitive flesh.

Eilwyn saw stars. A part of her body she rarely explored, rarely touched unless she was wrapping bindings about it, gave her so much more pleasure than she’d imagined it could. The peak of her breast was hard against the fabric, her nipple straining at Alistair’s ministrations, and she felt her hips buck slightly forward to connect with his in wanton need.

She’d read about this in books. She’d read about breasts being fondled, and it had all seemed so romantic.

And this was, most definitely, romantic. But it was also clumsy, unsure, and almost ticklish. The seduction didn't lie in the way he knew exactly what to do; quite the opposite, in fact. The way Alistair seemed lost, the way he cupped her one moment and then dragged his fingers along her bodice the next, it was enough to draw a low, lustful noise from deep in Eilwyn’s throat.

_He knows just as little as I do._

When she brought her hand to his, encouraging him to lavish the other breast with just as much attention, Alistair almost bit the top of her lip in shock. He made a stilted noise of his own against her, his tongue faltering, and she liked that even more. The idea that her pleasure, her desire, affected him?

_It's almost like I know what I'm doing._

Seeming to want to test the waters further, Alistair brought his other palm to join the first, and Eilwyn trailed her hands down so that they could rest on his hips. As he dragged his thumbs up from below where her breasts began to swell; as he flicked them up over the meager flesh of them; as he massaged sweetness into her curves… Alistair never once stopped deliberately undoing Eilwyn with his lips.

He seemed strangely able to multitask in a moment like this, whereas Eilwyn found her focus was lost. She didn’t know what to do with her tongue, so she followed his. She had no idea where to put her hands, so she slid them against his hips, then daringly back to grab his arse and pull him forward into her. When his thumb grazed against the bud of her nipple, stark and almost painful in its pleasure, she felt her mouth grow slack as she let out a sigh.

_Show me what to do, and I'll do it._

Alistair groaned against her, his large hands roaming down to her waist as if he meant to take a break, but Eilwyn didn’t want him to stop. Without pausing their kiss, she wriggled her hands between them and started to undo the front of her robes. The cold lick of the air against her bare sternum was enough to make her shudder, but she was quick. The lacings came undone easily, but she did not pull apart the fabric completely. She let it hang on her breasts, the peek of skin somehow more sensual to her than baring her entire chest.

Alistair seemed to have the same idea. Either that, or he merely didn’t wish to impede her. When Eilwyn reached for his gauntlet, he already had half of the buckles undone and was trying to wriggle his hand free. His lips caught hers once more, as if he was unable to keep away, and as he kissed her she undid the last clasp about his wrist.

The leather fell between them, dropped to the ground without a care.

Time seemed to slow. Alistair broke the kiss a fraction, kissing at Eilwyn’s nose and temple as his bare hand reached up to rest against her belly. She sighed, frightened and alive and desperate for something she didn’t know how to ask for.

They’d only been kissing for what felt like mere minutes, but her body had responded almost exponentially to every caress. Her smalls were already soaked through. Her knees were weak. She found herself gripping him, her hands clenching and unclenching as if they were cold as she tried to find purchase in his armor to anchor them together. Every brush of his thighs against hers, every time their skin connected, it dug the desire deeper into her core, and Eilwyn was ecstatic with vibrancy from it.

_I wonder if we can do more._

Alistair’s fingers crept to where her bodice was undone, to the very bottom of the fabric where it lay against the outline of her sternum. His index and middle digits played with the lacings, flicking the leather back and forth until she smiled. Once he felt her mouth curve against his, Alistair moved his knuckles up the center of her chest, then back down again, grazing so feather-light over the fabric of her bindings that Eilwyn shivered.

_So small…_

_Nothing’s there…_

_Leliana has more chest than I do, and Morrigan’s ribs don’t look like this behind her vest..._

Eilwyn shut her eyes against the comparisons, and then brought her fingertips to rest on Alistair’s wrist. His index and middle finger were caught at the bottom of her collar, in the very center of her chest, down the line of bone that connected all of her ribs and caught all of her nervous breaths.

_Will I be able to feel his callouses?_

_Will it hurt?_

Pushing gently, even as Alistair breathed a shaky sigh against her temple with parted lips, Eilwyn guided his fingers up against the length of her sternum in a smooth line. When they reached the top of the silken cloth she used to tie her breasts, Eilwyn hooked Alistair’s fingers about its lip. Unsure whether it was her moving him, or if he did it on his own, they pulled the final layer of fabric down, pulled until it fell beneath her robes about her waist.

Alistair laid his palm flat against the center of her chest, splaying his fingers wide against the-

_Lack of cleavage?_

-beating of her heart through the bones of her chest.

It was daunting, having his skin touching hers in a new way. The feeling of the heavy, coarse fabric of her battle robes against the sensitive, pebbled nipples was strange and not altogether unpleasant. However meager her breasts were, they felt heavy when not bound up in the silk cloth, and they almost ached from wanting to be touched.

_Is that even possible?_

Eilwyn still had her eyes closed, and Alistair was nuzzling against her cheek as if he could hardly believe this was happening either. His thumb traced a path along the swell of her breast, an afterthought, her breasts still hidden by robes he hadn’t bothered to part for her.

What an intriguing thought. They both knew she was naked beneath that final layer of fabric, but neither of them had moved to do anything about it. Eilwyn knew she could open her bodice, could bare her chest for him, and it wouldn’t take away from the moment. In fact, part of her wondered if that was what Alistair was waiting for her to do.

Still, she couldn’t bring herself to. Even though she’d opened everything for him to touch, if he saw her naked skin…

That felt strangely more intimate, in a lot of ways.

With his other hand, the one still gloved in leather, Alistair caught Eilwyn’s chin and tipped her lips up to meet his once more. As they connected clumsily in the dark, she felt her tooth cut against his lower lip, and he hissed. Rather than forcing him to break the kiss, though, it seemed to spur him on to do more. His hand slid beneath the heavy wool of her robes.

"Maker's breath, but you're beautiful," he whispered.

She tried to respond, but succeeded only in something that sounded like she'd just woken up from a long sleep and tried to mumble out a dream before it faded.

"Mmm, you, ah-"

It was incredible, the way her body seemed to know what to do. Eilwyn arched into his touch, his rough palm dragging carefully over the slight swell of her breast. His gasp echoed her moan, and his touch grew greedy for but a moment. Hungrily, he pawed at her while his tongue parted her lips and delved deeper into her kiss. Eilwyn squeaked, not from lack of enjoyment, more so from an inability to follow his lead.

_He’s not vulnerable like I am._

_What am I supposed to do as he touches me?_

_Because I feel like my knees are about to-_

As if he could sense her thoughts, Alistair pulled back. His kisses gentled and traced lines from her lips down her jaw, towards the curve of her neck. His hand at her breast grew soft in its caresses, patient and unhurried, and when his thumb flicked across her nipple unintentionally, Eilwyn gave a strangled little cry up into the night.

“Shh,” Alistair murmured, his lips beneath her ear. “Our friends will talk.”

“Let them,” Eilwyn whispered breathlessly. “I don’t care.”

Alistair went to say something else, but Eilwyn interrupted him accidentally, talking over him in her desperation.

“I love you.”

Alistair seemed stunned. No longer did he kiss at her skin, he now seemed frozen in place. His hand stilled at her breast, his palm cupping her close to her heart. Eilwyn could feel the rhythm beating out against his fingers, and air fled from her lungs as she forced herself to open her eyes.

He had pulled back and was watching her in the dark, an unreadable expression on his face. Eilwyn smiled to herself, smiled at her timing and his reaction.

“I do. Maybe I haven't said it aloud before-"

"You haven't."

"Ah. Then..." she bit her lip. "It's high time I did."

Alistair gave a helpless laugh, looking as if he was afraid, or eager, the shock apparent in his face.

"You’re my best friend,” she said, carefully choosing her words in the quiet of the trees. Unable to come up with something poetic, Eilwyn merely stated what had been rolling through her mind ever since she’d spoken with Athras. “Alistair, you’re… I think you’re…”

_Handsome._

_Sexy._

_Powerful._

“You're everything I want,” she blurted desperately. “Despite all of the sad things we deal with.”

"You are, too."

"But... but..." Eilwyn stammered, struggling past her anxiety, the newness of this, the way to confess that wouldn't leave them both awkward.

_More awkward, anyway._

"I shouldn't want you," she bit out. "Not as much as I do. I mean, right? Should I, should... we?"

“Is that such a bad thing?” he whispered back. "To want each other despite the horrors surrounding our circumstances?"

“It makes me feel…” Eilwyn frowned to herself, searching for the best descriptor. “Immature.”

Alistair let out a laugh, the noise tortured and almost sarcastic.

“Does that make sense?”

“Oh it does. Believe me,” Alistair murmured. “Because I feel the same way.”

They stayed quiet, bare skin against bare skin, their eyes conveying more than words could, and Eilwyn wished she knew how to better ask for what she wanted. After several heartbeats of hesitation, she decided to just blurt out what she knew to be true.

“Anything that you let me do with you will make me happy, Alistair.”

Alistair gave another chuckle, sounding more in control this time.

“Good to know,” he said. “Next time we’re wading through marshwaters, I’ll be sure to remind you of this conversation.”

“Pfft,” Eilwyn scoffed. “I didn’t mean-”

“Or perhaps when we’re wrestling with rabid wolves, that would be a more opportune time for reminding, wouldn’t you say?”

Eilwyn laughed despite herself. She knew where this was going, knew he was deflecting because to understand her deeper meaning meant the ball was in his court. Alistair continued even as Eilwyn pulled her hands from where they’d rested at his hips.

“Actually, the other day I was wondering if we should go seek out the archdemon straight away, before we gather our forces. Glad to hear that our leader would be happy if we did just-”

Alistair’s mouth fell open, his words lost on the tip of his tongue.

Eilwyn had shrugged her shoulders free from her sleeves, exposing her chest to the cold night air, and to Alistair.

Immediately, his hand fell away from her chest, but the gesture seemed like one borne of reverence and not of repulse. As if he wanted to get a clear picture of her, as if he wanted to fully appreciate what she was showing him. His thumb stayed against her ribs, just beneath the meager swell of her breast. His mouth formed an  _o_ , and he let out a puff of misty breath, but no sound accompanied the exclamation.

Pinpricks of chill stung at Eilwyn's nipples, twisting the already hard buds into tighter peaks, and the lack of warmth from Alistair's palm made her want to whine aloud. The skin that never saw sunlight, beige and brown washed indigo in the moonlight, seemed to have stunned her warrior into speechlessness. She stood there, waiting for him to drink his fill of her, until a shiver wracked her body without her permission.

“Maker’s breath,” Alistair whispered, coming to his senses. “It’s freezing!”

Rather than pull her shirt closed, which was what Eilwyn thought he was going to do, Alistair opened his cloak to her.

It made for an absurd image, at least in Eilwyn’s mind. Her, with her chest bare and exposed, moving in to hug her fully-armored paramour about the waist as he draped his cloak over her shoulders. She laughed, giggling into the silverite chestplate.

_He was smart to enchant it with Sandal how he did. It's always so warm to the touch._

_No wonder he hardly takes it off anymore._

She thought they were finished here, her meaning illustrated very clearly, her offer on the table. She fully expected Alistair to tell her that he appreciated what she was saying, but that they were unable to do more. Regardless of whether he refused her or not, she held no regrets at upping the intimacy ante.

After what she'd seen over the past few days, the loneliness, the sickness, the pining. The periwinkle and gold scarf, and the pendant of circling hawks. Eilwyn knew she couldn't afford to not try, to not take advantage of what little intimacy they were offered.

_Just like how he lays on me._

_He just wants to be close, too._

Eilwyn was satisfied with her longing, so much so that she almost didn’t hear what Alistair whispered against her temple.

“You're so brave. Do you know that?”

Before she could answer, or ask what he meant, his fingers were back at her chest. His lips were pressed against her temple, and when she upturned her chin for a kiss he denied her with a smile. She went to frown at the refusal, but she never got the chance.

“Tell me how you like to be touched,” he whispered, his voice strangled at the edge, as if he were biting back force in order to give her gentleness.

Eilwyn swallowed hard, then shook her head with a shrug.

“I have no idea,” she answered, her breath fogging the air between them. “You’re the first person to ever touch me.”

Alistair’s expression was a mixture of things. Eilwyn thought it was like pride, or maybe empathy? It was hard to tell, but the smile he wore was sweet and humble.

_And mine._

“Do you…” Eilwyn felt herself blushing in the dark.

_Now? My body blushes now?!_

She cleared her throat and tried again, thankful the night surrounding them would serve to camouflage her shyness.

“Do you know what feels good? To you, anyway?”

Alistair paused, and she could see him swallow as well. It comforted her, seeing her own reaction mirrored back in him. After a beat, he shrugged and nodded.

“I have some small idea.” He gave her a wry twist of a smile, mischief in his eyes. “This kind of stuff was not exactly encouarged by the Chantry.”

“Nor by the Circle.”

Alistair laughed, a choked sound, as if it had escaped him by surprise.

“I suppose not,” he conceded. “But… just to be clear… you’re saying you want to…?”

“Figure this out together,” Eilwyn finished. She ran her hands down, her touch bold. Her hands grazed the front of Alistair’s thighs and she watched his eyelashes flutter from the contact. “You set the pace,” she whispered, “and I’ll follow you.”

“That’s-” Alistair cleared his throat. “You’re sure?”

Eilwyn nodded.

As if testing her, Alistair brought his thumb to trace along the line of her lower lip. Eilwyn felt her mouth part instinctively, and their inaudible breath was tangible in the twin puffs of clouds from past their lips. Alistair tilted his chin up, dropping his mouth open as well, further than she'd parted her own. Eilwyn realized he was requesting she do the same, and she copied him immediately. His thumb slid along the line of her lip, to the tip of her tongue.

Instinct drove her. Eilwyn closed her lips around his knuckle, her mouth wet and welcome. Alistair seemed lost, his expression pained and enraptured all at once.

Eilwyn wasn’t sure what to do, however, now that Alistair’s thumb was in her mouth. Lick at it? Suck? Let it sit on her tongue, or maybe swallow around it? Suddenly she was acutely aware of how much she wanted to swallow, aware of how her mouth had watered. It wasn't at all glamorous on her part; she felt like a caught fish, hooked through her lip with a thumb.

But then Alistair gave a slow, shuddering exhale. She swallowed, curving her tongue around his digit to do so, and he voiced the air escaping his throat, turning it to a strangled little moan.

_He likes that?_

Bringing one hand up to touch to his wrist, to hold him in place, Eilwyn began to move her tongue about his knuckle in a long, slow circle. He tasted lightly of salty skin, and a bit bitter from the leather of his gloves. And even though he seemed to really like what she was doing, Alistair didn’t push further, didn’t try to thrust into her mouth. He seemed content to merely touch at the tip of her tongue, like he barely believed it was real. The rest of his fingers rested lightly against her chin, like he was afraid to hold her in place by curving them to her cheek.

It was a reassurance. He was setting the pace, but he was also giving her complete freedom to do as she wanted to him as well.

When Eilwyn traced about the pad of his finger, memorizing the little divots of his fingerprint beneath her tongue, Alistair let out a long, low groan. With a little pop of suction, he pulled his thumb from her mouth. Eilwyn went to bring her hand up to catch the string of saliva that had escaped on accident, but then Alistair bent his head to catch her in a sloppy kiss.

At first, it was strangely embarrassing. This was nothing new, their tongues found one another often enough that she shouldn’t be shy, but knowing that the wetness against their chins was because of her messiness was panic-inducing.

_I drooled._

_That’s not in any of the romance novels._

Before she could protest, or try to salvage the moment back to its previous perfection, she felt a slide against one of her nipples.

Without thinking, she let out a mewling cry.

“Shh,” Alistair laughed, chuckling against her mouth as if he hoped to quiet her with more kisses.

“How did you…”

Alistair’s wet thumb slid against her sensitive flesh again, just a brush back and forth, but it was enough to have Eilwyn’s knees trembling.

“Oh.”

“My hands are too rough by themselves,” Alistair whispered, possibly by way of explanation.

Eilwyn, all thoughts of her drooling set aside, could merely nod and bit down hard on her lip as he flicked his thumb unhurriedly against her flesh.

“Feels okay?”

She nodded harder, loosening a few curls from where she’d tucked them behind her ears. Her hands found his arms, then his waist, then his arms again, flitting about in delicious agony as she ground her hips up against his.

Alistair laughed, a noise Eilwyn memorized for the day that might come in the future, the day where she might never hear it again-

_Don’t think like that._

_He’s here now._

“I wish you had your armor off,” she breathed, writhing happily against his explorations.

Her hands had found purchase in his belt, pulling him flush against her, and she could feel his insistent erection pressing thick and rigid against her hip. She knew Alistair must want that too, at least physically.

He groaned in answer, and she tilted her chin up to catch his eye as he smiled.

“Could we do that?” she whispered.

“What? Take my armor off?”

She nodded.

“Now?"

She nodded again.

"But it's so cold.”

“We have tents,” she murmured.

“That we share with other people.”

“Who can be sent away.”

Alistair sighed, his breath shaky.

"Eilwyn."

Eilwyn pressed her lips together, trying to mask the slight sting of disappointment she felt in his hesitation.

"Yes?"

“I know…” Alistair sighed, as if the words were difficult to get out.

To reassure him, Eilwyn took his hand in hers and pressed his palm to the center of her chest. Enough skin to remain intimate, but nothing lascivious.

_Not that lascivious anyway…_

The act seemed to steel him. Alistair looked at her with honesty, unwavering in his words.

“I know most guys would leap at the chance to share a tent with you-”

Eilwyn made a face, unable to hide her amusement.

“What?” Alistair asked. “They would!”

“I don't think so," she said past a grin. "I mean... nobody's ever approached me to do so before."

Alistair trained her with an eyebrow raise.

"Maybe you just never caught their hints," he muttered.

She paused, narrowing her eyes, feeling once again like she was missing something. Was there a hint to be gotten? Or was Alistair just trying to distract from the topic at hand?

“Eilwyn-”

“It’s okay, really,” she said. “I said for you to set the pace, and you’re setting the pace. I'm happy to give you whatever you want, and nothing-”

“I want you to listen to me,” he murmured, and the hand not pressed to the center of her chest was suddenly at her hip, holding her tight.

Eilwyn swallowed back a noise, especially since she could feel how hard Alistair still was, even though his many layers.

“Are you listening?” he asked.

She nodded, helpless and loving it.

“Good.” Alistair sighed, “As I was saying. This invitation, to share a tent together, it’s not… it’s not that I haven’t considered it. After all, you are...”

He paused, much like she had before. Instead of finding the words, however, he merely smiled wanly. It was a tiny expression though, fading before she had a chance to truly appreciate it.

Eilwyn placed both hands on his arm, anchoring him to her. The relaxation the act seemed to bring to him no longer appeared to be enough to curtail his nerves, though. Alistair closed his eyes, his brow furrowed, and then he blurted what was on his mind.

“But sharing a tent with you... I don’t know if I’m ready for that.” He paused, then added, “It’s a pretty big step, I guess.”

“We don’t have to do... _that_ , if we share a tent,” Eilwyn said, trying to reassure him. “We could just do this sort of thing. Some kisses. And then go to sleep!”

“Would you be satisfied with stopping? If we were next to each other all night?”

Eilwyn blushed, her jaw clenching immediately.

“I didn’t think so,” he chuckled. “And…” His voice lowered, his eyes growing brighter at his confession, “I wouldn’t be, either."

Her heart leapt at the implication.

"You would want to... do more with me?"

"Oh, my dear," Alistair murmured, laughing richly to himself. As if she had no idea. As if she should know by now what the answer to that question was.

Eilwyn's mind was aflame with possibilities. From the first time she'd ever accidentally touched Alistair's thigh, and beyond, she'd wondered what he thought about in regards . What piqued his arousal? What felt good to him? Was there a certain way he touched himself, or did he even touch himself at all? Eilwyn felt her heartbeat racing; she wanted to know it all.

Hearing that he might think such things about her? It sent a pulse of arousal swirling deep in her belly, down further, her clit beating out a steady rhythm against the slide of his thighs against hers. She was a woman crazed. It was as if his every word was laced with intoxicating serum that sent pleasure cascading down her spine at the very implication they held.

"I want to do everything with you," Alistair whispered.

"Me too," Eilwyn answered, feeling a bit faint as her words escaped her in a puff of misty breath.

He smiled down at her, as if he had wanted nothing more than to hear that sentiment reciprocated.

"It's not bad, to want such things," Alistair said. "Not with someone you love, I don’t think.”

Eilwyn paused. She got the strange feeling that he wasn't telling her this, that instead Alistair was stating it to reassure himself.

“Then… it’s not okay for us to share a tent tonight because…?”

Alistair gave a helpless laugh.

“I know it doesn't make sense. And I shouldn't even be refusing. Someone like you, ah, I just... it's a big step. Something important, that I don't want to rush into."

He looked up in time to see Eilwyn attempt to hide her expression of disappointment, and he groaned.

“That must make me sound like an idiot. I mean, turn down an incredible woman like you? I’d have to be.”

“No,” Eilwyn shook her head. “Definitely not. If anything, it means you’re respectful, and good, and levelheaded-”

“You’re all of those things too,” he hurried to reassure her. “Just because you’re ready to do things before I am doesn’t mean you’re… not… all of those things,” Alistair finished, his tone losing a bit of momentum near the end.

Eilwyn chuckled, and Alistair’s bare thumb at her chest drew a loving semi-circle into her skin.

“I guess I was just raised not to take this sort of thing lightly.” He sighed, then hung his head. “I hope it hasn’t… put you off.”

“No,” Eilwyn said, standing on her tiptoes to kiss at his cheek. “Not at all.”

“You’re alright with this?” Alistair asked, and the flush on his skin was evident even in the dark. He was practically steaming before her, his skin too warm from the embarrassment, or perhaps from the longing. “You’re alright with stopping?” he finished.

"You set the pace,” Eilwyn repeated. “I'm going to follow.”

She pushed Alistair’s hand gently from her skin, and he helped her to pull up her silk bindings from within her robe. As she tightened the cloth about her breasts, there was a sense of dismay about her that she hoped Alistair couldn't glean.

But for the most part, beyond the dampened arousal, she hadn't been lying. She was thrilled Alistair trusted her enough to set such clear boundaries. She didn't mind stopping, and it hadn't put her off at all. If anything, it had redoubled how much she knew she would enjoy whatever it was they would do after.

When she opened her mouth to tell him so, Alistair caught her in another kiss.

“I feel like a fool-”

“Don’t-”

“-because part of me wants to keep doing this,” Alistair begged, his mouth moving even as he kissed her. “All the touches, the exploring, the-”

“I love all of those things too,” Eilwyn promised breathlessly.

_Adraste preserve me, if he tries to withhold kisses from me, I’ll go blind._

“Just because we set a boundary doesn’t mean that we can’t still enjoy ourselves,” she continued.

Alistair dragged a steamy kiss along the length of her jaw, his mouth finding the smooth slope of her neck once more even as he tied up the front of her bodice. His fingers tripped on the laces, and Eilwyn took over when it came time for the knot.

Wordlessly, they pulled away from one another. Alistair picked up his gauntlet, then extended one hand to Eilwyn. She took it, swinging their arms between the two of them as they returned to the path leading to where the others had made camp.

“Well, now that I’ve handled that with all of my usual deft brilliance,” Alistair murmured, “time to move on I suppose? Maybe dunk my head in the halla trough."

Eilwyn giggled.

"Realistically, we should both try and get some shut-eye before tomorrow. We'll be heading back into the fray before we know it.”

Her lips pursed together, Eilwyn gave a sage nod.

“Will you be able to rest easy tonight, then?”

“Knowing I could have had you in my arms? Hardly,” he laughed.

They walked back together, confusion and heightened energy making the conversation stilted. Eilwyn did not press the issue, but Alistair seemed simultaneously relieved and frustrated with himself. As if he were kicking himself for saying no, no matter how Eilwyn had reacted. Arousal wasn't an easy thing to just ignore, especially after how bold they'd grown with one another in the shadows of the trees just then.

But he was right. She would have to get some rest, difficult as it might be, because tomorrow was another harder push back into the grim reality of the Brecilian.

When they came upon the glowing fire of their party camp, they found Wynne petting McWhistle’s overlarge forehead with her novel balanced in her other hand. The others were either in their tents, or cleaning their weapons along the perimeter before bed. Even though Wynne barely raised her head to acknowledge the two of them, Eilwyn knew they had to part ways.

Eilwyn moved to go to the tent far beyond Wynne, where she could hear Leliana shifting. Her snuffly breaths were a sign the bard was deeply asleep already. But when she went to extricate her hand from Alistair’s, he stopped her.

Pulling her to his chest, Alistair kissed her unashamedly and without provocation, even though Wynne was right across the fire pretending not to watch. Eilwyn tensed for but a moment, and then her audience was forgotten. She kissed him back, bringing one hand to his cheek in order to steady his lips against hers. When he pulled away, Alistair pressed his forehead briefly against hers.

“I love you, Eilwyn,” he whispered, looking her steadily in the eye as he said it.

Eilwyn’s chest felt fit to burst. Her knees weak, her cheeks too warm, she beamed up at him in the dim glow of the fire.

“I love you, too.”

He smiled for her then, that expression she knew to be all her own, and they sealed the little breathless promise to one another with a final chaste peck. Then, before she could hear Wynne’s take on the public display of affection, Eilwyn escaped to the ladies’ tent and left Alistair to fend for himself.

“Why are you smiling like that?” she heard Alistair ask, laughter on the edge of his voice. “You look suspiciously like the cat who swallowed the pigeon.”

“Canary,” Wynne answered, her voice quiet and barely audible.

Whatever else they said was lost to soft murmurs in the night as Eilwyn closed the tent flap and began to disrobe. She folded her robes carefully as she set them to the side, ignoring how the apex of her thighs was still impossibly and ridiculously slick from just a few touches. With a great sigh, she slid underneath of the furs and blankets on her side of the bedroll. The fire crackling pleasantly outside and the warmth of the blankets by Leliana created a thrall Eilwyn was unable to ignore. Soon she was asleep, dreaming of sunkissed shoulders, shimmering waterfalls, and slick caresses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Longer chapter since I've had a longer absence! I want to start getting into the grit of the forest, but I went back and forth from the Dalish camp so much when I played through that I had to include it at least once haha.
> 
> I move in a week, then I go stateside for a month!! If I'm back and forth during weird intervals, that's why <3
> 
> Hopefully it's super apparent that these two are only going off of rumors they've heard from friends, books they've read, and what their own bodies are urging them to do. Clumsy, virginal exploration is my jaaaaaaaaaaam.


	27. Those More Experienced

The Brecilian was quickly losing its charm. The awe that Eilwyn felt when Duncan had taken her through the forested paths leading to Ostagar, all that time ago-

_We left in spring. I remember the spring rain._

-now had morphed into a fatigue that bent at her spine. She loved looking up and seeing the stars of branches crisscrossed against a graying sky, but she also had to watch for potential ambush as she craned her neck. Inhaling, she reveled in the familiar smell of moss and pine, but she was also looking for traces of unfamiliar leather or the syrupy rot of sylvan excretions. While she memorized the haunting, beautiful melody of the birds flitting about, gathering the last scraps of warmth for their nests from whatever they could scrounge, she also had to open her ears for footsteps that didn't match her party's.

In a sense, Eilwyn had traded her awe for awareness. She wouldn't trade back, seeing as how her passive paranoia had saved them from wandering close to enemies many a time during their explorations. And yet, somehow, the revelation of just how different these woodsy walks were from her first experience made Eilwyn almost sad.

_I've learned a lot since then._

_At a pretty high cost._

_I hope I'm worth the trouble._

Sidestepping a large fallen log, Eilwyn was reminded of walking into cobwebs with Duncan behind her. She'd cried out back then, swiping at herself with painful slaps and scratches as she imagined their legs tickling her skin, inordinately frightened of something so small. At the time, she'd been reminded of the huge crawling giants she'd fought under the tower, of her betrayal of her only true friend, and she had dissolved into shaky tears immediately every time.

That had changed too.

Now, when she found bugs about her person, a caterpillar on her shoulder or a wasp by her ear, she could react calmly. She usually flicked it off, even if her initial reaction was revulsion, or at least kept her calm long enough to cast a puff of breezy wind about her person in order to get rid of the clingy film of web residue. No longer did she cry or even shriek when she felt something little on the back of her palm or the nape of her neck.

It was nothing compared to the other horrors she'd had to face.

She was looking up at the stark blue sky one morning as they were making their way, and was contemplating all of this without truly focusing on any particular memory. Eilwyn felt strangely ephemeral; she'd changed so much, was she destined to change even more? Was she another person now? How does one stay true to oneself while also trying to be better?

_I'll have to ask Wynne._

They were traveling slowly, following along trails that Zevran had scouted the night before for ambush points. After having been grabbed by a great bear the other day, he was taking no chances, and his caution was something Eilwyn took full advantage of. She could allow herself to relax a bit, thanks to his hard work prior. It was why she took the back of the party, rather than the front.

Up ahead, Wynne was actually part of the vanguard, with Alistair and Morrigan. Such a trio was sure to be a bundle of laughs, and once Eilwyn could pull Alistair aside she fully intended to ask for a play by play of all the things he was teased about.

_I hope they don't rib him for hours._

_He's got to have a connection with at least Wynne by now, right?_

Straggling about in the middle and back of the pack were Leliana, Sten, and Zevran with Eilwyn at the very rear.

She didn't feel obligated to worry about leading, but she did want to make sure they weren't being flanked, and so Eilwyn kept one ear to their backs as she daydreamed and followed.

Leliana seemed amused, but also contemplative and rather quiet. When Eilwyn first trailed behind with the two sneakiest members of her band of misfits, her eyes ever moving as she took in her surroundings, Zevran had teased that she might've made a better spy than mage.

She hadn't let it cut at her; if anything, it was a compliment from someone of his rank and experience.

_I never would have been told that before, though._

_If anything, in the Circle, I had trouble with situational awareness._

_Not so much a problem nowadays._

_Too aware, if anything._

Zevran had then proceeded to muse about her other career prospects, glossing over the fact that her being a mage cut all of them out of the realm of possibility. When he'd mentioned that she could easily be a model for oil paintings, shooting her a look of smoldering charm as he did so, Eilwyn had felt a blush creep up her neck.

She hadn't told him to lay off. She had cast a flicker of frost at the back of his neck for his audacity, though.

It had prompted him to shudder and give a purr she hadn't expected. As if he'd enjoyed it.

Leliana had commented on the noise, but then they'd fallen into the thoughtful silence they fond themselves in at present.

Not long after that, Sten had left them to stay near Alistair and the mages, and McWhistle was happily at his side. As if the Qunari wanted to avoid eavesdropping any further on idle conversation, and the mabari was deliberately ignoring them as well. It left Eilwyn with her thoughts, and two of the most perceptive people with more privacy than she maybe felt comfortable with.

_I suppose it can't be helped. Sten never really was one for small talk-_

"So, am I really supposed to believe that you have done nothing?" Zevran asked Eilwyn.

"B-beg pardon?" Eilwyn stammered, caught off guard. She racked her brain for what she had forgotten to do today.

_I made breakfast. I packed our tents. I cleaned up after last night's experimental powder-making, and I made sure to wash up the last of the numbing gel I'd made so it didn't-_

"Zevran," Leliana teased. "It is not nice to continue a mental conversation aloud so abruptly. You'll confuse the poor girl."

"My mistake, dear woman," Zevran amended smoothly. "I was merely thinking of how very cold it is getting at night. I have on close to four layers, four! And yet I still feel a tingle in my toes at the frost. Ugh!"

"Am I... supposed to do something about the cold?" Eilwyn asked, narrowing her eyes in confusion.

"No, no," Zevran said with a chuckle. "Unless you are shivering at night. Then, well..."

He gave her a lascivious little eyebrow raise, then continued.

"What I meant before was, have you really done nothing to keep warm at night, little dove?"

Eilwyn stared off into space, the implication landing with full force on her.

"You should not badger her, Zevran."

"It is not badgering to ask a simple question! She is a dear friend, I am concerned about frostbite."

"Right," the minstrel murmured. "And not at all morbidly curious about who is sharing her bedroll."

"What are you saying? Out with it, I will not play these word games with you," Zevran said with a grin, looking as if he absolutely loved word games.

Leliana heaved a laborious sigh. Before the Sister could reply, Eilwyn interrupted.

"I've... not done nothing," Eilwyn muttered, feeling strangely as if she needed to defend herself even though the topic was too personal.

_But why not tell them?_

_I was just thinking about how different I was._

_Less innocent. Less naive._

Even so, the fact remained that she was still very much so, in many ways. The implication of the questions led her to believe they were about virginity. She'd overheard Alistair asking Leliana about what it meant to be a bard, some time ago. Leliana had seemed... experienced, and respectful of the fact that this was not a conversation to have with just anyone. Zevran, however, made no attempt to cover his expertise. Eilwyn knew he must have been popular, must still be knowledgeable.

And it made it so that she could not lie to him even this much.

Blushing wildly, she tucked a strand of hair behind one ear, and sniffed.

"Just..." she swallowed, then mumbled, "not done much."

_Some defense._

"You need not be nervous, you know," Zevran said. "There are many stories told in order to keep women virginal and pure,  _bah_ ," he made a face as if even speaking the phrase aloud left him with a bitter taste in his mouth. "They speak of pain, warnings-"

"Zev-"

"-but it does not have to be that way. If you are patient enough, and skilled enough, you can in fact make it so that the woman-"

"Zevran!" Eilwyn squeaked, two seconds away from putting her hands to her ears like a child.

The elf paused, the tilted his head, at an apparent loss.

"What?" He turned to Leliana. "What!"

"Maybe this is a discussion for Eilwyn to have with Alistair present," Leliana hinted, better with words than Eilwyn could be in her self-consciousness. Eilwyn gave a weak nod, thanking the Maker the air was cold enough to cool her heated skin.

"You think I have not tried to discuss such things with the stubborn man?" Zevran gave a mirthless laugh. "He will not hear of it. Will barely listen to my own appealing anecdotes. You would think the poor man was raised by dogs, the way he whines."

Eilwyn flinched at the dig, even though Zevran seemed to be at least mostly good-natured about it. She wasn't sure how to respond.

Lately, in the forest anyway, she wasn't sure if Zevran and Alistair were getting along as well as they pretended. There was a tension she didn't know how to explain, or to read. She assumed most of it was coming from her, from the way she wanted to grab Alistair and drag him off to be by themselves, but wouldn't. Ever since the touches they'd shared at the Dalish camp, they hadn't done more than kiss goodnight, and neither of them had brought up going further physically. Even though she knew he wanted her, and he  _had_ to know she wanted him.

It was maddening.

But now, looking at the way Zevran's eyes glossed with something cool when Alistair's name was brought up, Eilwyn wondered if she wasn't missing something.

Not for the first time, either.

"You said he doesn't like when you discuss our relationship with him," Eilwyn said carefully. "Will he be upset if I talk to you, do you think?"

"What do you care, my dove?" Zevran asked, his eyes maintaining that unnerving neutrality. "You are your own woman, are you not?"

"If he's jealous, he's underconfident," Leliana said primly. "Which is not your fault, you know. That is something Alistair must confront on his own terms."

Eilwyn turned to her friend, a bit shocked she'd side with Zevran in this instance.

"I'm not saying it would be my fault necessarily," Eilwyn countered, feeling a bit defensive of her warrior. "I'm just saying that I don't want to deliberately make him feel uncomfortable. If gossip will do that, I don't-"

"This is not gossip, my friend," Zevran interrupted. His expression looked hurt, and it gave Eilwyn pause. "You happen to be speaking with the two most-"

Zevran glanced at Leliana, and something clicked between them. Eilwyn missed much, but that look was too obvious. It was a head nod, a smile, some benevolent agreement.

_Do they talk much, where I don't see?_

"Ahem," Zevran continued, "the two most  _experienced_ members in your band of friendly wanderers."

Eilwyn pursed her lips together. She wasn't denying that.

Zevran's eyes were bright once more, which was a relief and a surprise.

"So it is not gossip," he murmured. "If anything, this is a meeting of wits and ability from a friend who cares about your wellbeing. And you should take advantage of it."

Eilwyn bit the inside of her cheek, her eyes fleeing Zevran's as she recognized that he was probably right.

"I mean..." Eilwyn sighed, hating how her voice trembled. "I do have some... questions... about mechanics, and..."

She trailed off, shame and uncertainty cutting her words off in her throat. She turned so that she could pretend she was checking over her shoulder for anyone following, when really it was just to avoid Zevran's rich honeyed gaze so directly.

In her peripheral, Eilwyn could tell that Zevran glanced up at Leliana. By the time Eilwyn got up enough courage to track his gaze to the bard, Leliana had only just turned herself to look as if she were innocently looking up at the treetops and not sharing another knowing stare with the Antivan assassin. Eilwyn immediately shot her eyes back at Zevran, sensing mischief.

"What?" she prodded.

"Leliana, my apple blossom," Zevran murmured, glossing over Eilwyn's question. "I would venture to say that starting such a conversation is rather difficult, is it not? No matter who it is with?"

"It is," she agreed, wholeheartedly ignoring Eilwyn with enough subtlety that Eilwyn actually wondered for a moment if she hadn't spoken up enough to be heard by her friends. "I remember that, for a long time, initiating even the discussion of intimate acts was also difficult to start. Not to mention the acts themselves."

Zevran nodded sagely.

"But," Leliana chimed in, "such things are easy to practice."

Eilwyn flushed pink, realization sweeping over her.

_They want to advise me on how to do… that. With Alistair._

_I thought we were just talking about what we've already done!_

_Or about... mechanics!_

She blushed harder, feeling very much like a dumpling; all soft, steamed, and gooey, ready to fall apart from sheepishness.

"I remember my first time," Zevran said. "It was at the hands of a more experienced woman, she was very gentle with me. We took it slow."

"Slow is best," Leliana agreed.

"She initiated by asking me directly," he continued. "I agreed, and the conversation did not stop when we had no more words to say, we merely carried on speaking to one another with our bodies."

"We aren't really having this conversation, are we?" Eilwyn squeaked.

"You Fereldens," Zevran tsk-ed. "How will you ever truly become comfortable with intimacy if you cannot even imagine it?"

"It just feels… personal," Eilwyn said.

"It is," Leliana said, glancing up along the path to where Sten was stopped. McWhistle had brought him what looked like a stick. With bated breath, they all watched as the Qunari picked up the stick, turned it over and over, and then took it with a bow.

McWhistle cocked his head in disappointment, his game of fetch misunderstood. Perhaps deliberately.

Wishing she could chuckle at such a cute exchange, hating how nervous she felt in the pit of her stomach, Eilwyn looked back to her two friends.

They weren't looking malicious or mischievous. In fact, they looked warm and open- well, as warm as one could look when faced with the brisk, biting chill of the autumn air. That, paired with the impudent little yips coming from McWhistle far away, did much to put into perspective the conversation they were truly having.

_I have changed._

_I know it in my bones._

_I can do this._

Eilwyn took a deep breath, determined to try to be more comfortable and ask more questions. She was no longer afraid of little spiders, she should no longer be uncomfortable with little snippets of sensuality.

_Comparing a pest to sex._

_Not a good start, you know._

"My dear friend," Leliana murmured, reaching out to tuck a stray hair back behind Eilwyn's ear. "Your face is the exact shade of a raspberry."

"Mmm," Eilwyn backed away from Leliana's hand as she hummed. "Yes, drawing attention to it will surely make it go away. Thank you."

"I only meant to say that, if this conversation is crossing a line, we can stop."

"Just as you stopped with Alistair," Zevran offered, in what felt like yet another dig.

Leliana swatted at him, and Eilwyn narrowed her eyes.

"How do you know I was the one who stopped us?" she shot immediately.

The elf looked amused.

"Oh?" he cocked his head. "So... you not having  _done much_ , as you say... it is not for lack of trying then?"

Eilwyn blushed and grit her teeth.

"What has Alistair told you?" she asked, her voice a bit weaker than she'd intended for it to be.

"He told Zevran to stop asking," Leliana muttered impishly, giving the elf a little nudge with her elbow.

"Did he really?"

"I... might have crossed a bit of a line the other night while changing watch," Zevran hinted.

"Might have?"

"A bit of?" Leliana added, giving him a light tug on his thin leather vambrace.

"It is not that I was overtly rude, or inappropriate! Do not look at me like that," he said as he swatted Leliana's hand away from his forearm. "I merely asked if he was serious about you, Eilwyn."

Zevran cocked his head, and the pensive brightness in his eyes was enough to give Eilwyn pause.

"And?" Leliana pushed. "What else did you say?"

"And I also might have said," Zevran sighed, "that if he was not pursuing you effectively, he should be on his guard."

"Because?"

"You are a fine meddler, dear woman," Zevran snapped at Leliana. "Did they teach you how to wriggle such confessions from people at the Chantry, or did you learn such things when you were a bard? It is hard to tell."

But then he softened and merely rolled his eyes as Leliana didn't dignify the bite with a response. When he looked back at Eilwyn, he had an almost apologetic air about him.

"I told him to be on his guard, because if he was not pursuing you with serious diligence," he paused, choosing his words very carefully. "Then maybe someone more… _experienced_ in getting what they want was sure to come along."

His gaze was caramel, rich and sweet. Eilwyn knew she should look away, but she couldn't. Zevran seemed to soften at the prolonged eye contact.

"He should be satisfying you, my dear. If he is not, there are other options, ones who are very," his voice lowered, "very capable of doing so who would be happy to take up the mantle, given the chance."

Eilwyn's skin ran cold. The sweetness she felt in her friend turned to something deeper, something she didn't want to touch. It felt too personal once more, too far past a line she couldn't really define. It was not like when Zevran called her beautiful in passing, this felt... weighty. Meaningful. And not by her choice.

But Eilwyn didn't know what to say. So she grit her teeth harder, unable to do anything more than look down at the dirt below her feet.

To his credit, Zevran was too intelligent to miss such a physical cue. He seemed to remember himself, to pull back, and Eilwyn was immensely grateful for the step he took away from her physically.

"It was not a threat, my little dove," Zevran said, his tone light and easy. He gave a hearty chuckle. "You look as if I struck the poor man! It was teasing! You are a dear friend of mine, I would not infringe upon-"

Eilwyn burst out with a nervous giggle before she knew what hit her.

Both her friends looked shocked she'd made any noise at all, but one of mirth? It seemed to have floored them momentarily.

"Eilwyn?" Leliana blurted, sounding as if she wanted to continue but wasn't sure what to ask.

She covered her mouth with one hand, shaking her head. She signaled with her other hand that she needed a minute, and the looks on their two faces when she glanced back at them sent her into further anxious hysterics.

It was all she could do with the unknown feelings tangling up below her ribs.

_Feels too heavy._

_Like McWhistle's sitting on my chest._

_But also ridiculous._

_Like McWhistle's sitting on my chest._

Not once in the Circle had anyone shown interest in her first. She'd tumbled headfirst down hills of crush after pining crush, but not one of them had returned her affections in as much capacity as she'd wanted. They'd never noticed her, or had told her she was a friend, or had cut off contact with her.

She'd grown so much less vocal, even to herself, about such desires. It was one of the reasons she'd been so content to lust after and love Cullen from afar; far away was safe, and nobody could tell her to stop if they didn't know how she felt.

Now, instead of being told to stop, she had a warrior holding the key to her heart, and a handsome elf warning him that he'd better take care of such a  thing. She felt desirable and frightfully normal. To think, this was what more sociable, more capable people in the Circle might have gone through! It was both humorous and intimidating, and if she was being honest, she didn’t know how to respond to it.

Zevran, to be fair, looked equally as speechless.

After a long minute of giggling to herself, of searching for what to say, Eilwyn stopped walking. She reached out and took Zevran by the arm, then leaned over so that her temple thudded gently against his leather-clad shoulder.

"Thank you," she muttered, giving him a shake.

"For what, my lady Warden?" he laughed. "For warning our beloved royal bastard to satisfy your every desire? Or for finding you utterly entrancing?"

Eilwyn shrugged at the intensity despite the joking tone, and she pulled away before the touch could be misconstrued.

"Both, I suppose? For caring, anyway," she added with a bit of embarrassment.

She could feel her cheeks reddening, and then an arm was about her shoulders. With a quickness that felt almost protective, Leliana brought Eilwyn into a warm embrace and then began to adjust Eilwyn's scarf and cloak as an older sister might.

"You are adorable, dear friend," Leliana muttered. "Probably too adorable for your own good."

"I-"

Whatever Eilwyn was about to say, in either protest or agreement, was cut off by a low, crescendo of a scream from the front. It was a cry of pain, guttural and surprised, and so loud that Zevran immediately drew his blades. A split second passed, one where all three of them froze as Sten vaulted forward without hesitation, and then the trees echoed back some sense into Eilwyn's skull.

_Go. Now!_

Her feet couldn't carry her fast enough to the front, the auburns and yellows of the fallen leaves around her blurring into a flame-like fog about the path. She met up with Morrigan, running almost smack into her back, in what felt like both an instant and an eternity. Pushing past where Morrigan was attempting to catch her and calm her, Eilwyn was met with a cacophony of screams and shouts that she couldn't internalize anything for a brief span of a couple heartbeats.

There was so much blood. So much crimson in the dirt, and a glint of telltale metal.

And on the ground in the middle of it all, writhing in Wynne's arms as she knelt with him in the dirt, was Alistair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WELP he really is the best with timing, you have to give Alistair that much.
> 
> I'm finally over jetlag and what I think was a cold borne of relief bahaha. I'm almost at full power, so I figured it was high time to post a thing <3
> 
> I've missed Eilwyn a lot. Going to be fun writing the next part out ;)


	28. In Your Strength

_A trap?_

_But why here?!_

_Zevran said he scouted this path!_

She could feel herself being jostled around, shoulders bumping shoulders, the space so small-

_We're in a forest, why is it so small?_

-she couldn't see clearly but then she heard Alistair's groans through clenched teeth and her focus recentered itself in a sharp, brittle second. His leg was caught, the smell of bitter tea leaves permeating the air-

_Deathroot?_

_No, not here, something else, something worse._

-Wynne's mana glowing about the air around his knee as Alistair thrashed. Morrigan was behind her, murmuring about the scent and what poison it could be, how she couldn't recognize the smell alone. Sten's hands were prying the steel teeth apart at the joint, and Leliana was fumbling at the stake keeping the damn thing in the ground even as Alistair held his leg tight and still with both hands gripped above the calf. Zevran had both daggers out, was securing their perimeter, sending McWhistle around them in a tight circle to make sure this wasn't a point of ambush.

And Eilwyn was watching, standing there, frozen as information poured in like a flood about her brain.

_Do something!_

Confused, tuned in to urgency, she did the only thing she could think to do.

She cast a paralyzing barrier about Alistair's person, stilling his agonized movements, hopefully slowing the crawl of the poison through his veins, and allowing both Leliana and Sten easier access to the metal jaw clamped about the ligaments and flesh that made up the lower half of his right leg.

They finally pried it open, no more than a few long seconds having passed, and Eilwyn managed to maintain her concentration as Sten lifted Alistair stiffly in the air. From behind her shoulder, Eilwyn heard Zevran give a call, something about a place to set up an emergency tent, and Morrigan moved quickly to begin preparing ingredients for an antidote. She was murmuring to herself, listing off everything she needed, and just based off of the list Eilwyn came to a chilling realization.

_It isn’t going to work._

_That's the recipe for an extraction paste._

_This isn’t a venom._

Everything happened so quickly, so immediately, and yet Eilwyn was able to keep a tight lock on her mana. Even through the fog of sick worry that clung about her skin, she did not falter. She solidified her mana in a wall about her warrior as they transferred him off the path beyond a wall of shrubbery, even though she could see the anguish in his stricken expression still there through the fog of paralysis. As Zevran and Leliana began to pitch a tent, Wynne was gathering components and lyrium potions. She touched at Alistair's leg, yanked her hands back, then touched a second time.

"Eilwyn, I'll need your eye," she muttered, sounding tremulous. "I might be doing something wrong, it isn't working."

The nervousness in her voice struck a chord within Eilwyn, and she moved to her senior enchanter's side while keeping a hand extended towards Alistair's core. She could hear Zevran and Leliana frantically gathering blankets and trying to fold them in a way that would keep his chest and heart propped high above where the poison was beginning to rot away at Alistair's ankle. The tent was rudimentary, but set up, and she ducked along with her senior enchanter in order to enter the cloth haven with everyone else.

"Wynne-"

"I tried to knit the flesh," the elder mage interrupted, sounding stern and confused. "I tried, but it felt like my mana was powder, washed away. Whatever that poison is, I've never seen it, Morrigan didn’t know either-"

"Wynne-"

"It must be a venom, it has to be. Or maybe a curse? Or, or..." Wynne gave a scoff of exasperation. "It smells bitter, but not like deathroot, no, like… like…"

"Alright, enough!"

Eilwyn clapped her hands, her concentration releasing as Alistair was set down onto the furs.

Wynne jumped at the sound. Leliana had Alistair's leg and was washing it with douses of fresh water from her skein, and as soon as the paralyzing barrier released Alistair gave such a gasp that the redhead startled hard.

As water splashed upwards in an arc over to the door of the tent, Eilwyn didn't flinch.

"Stop," she said. "All of you."

"But-"

"No, that is enough," she insisted, already taking off her cloak and sitting by a thrashing Alistair. He had both hands clenched about his knee, as if he hoped to stop the poison by sheer force of will.

"You cannot do this alo-"

"I won't be. Zevran, get him out of those trousers as best you can. Cut everything away if you have to!"

"Right. This, I can do," he confirmed.

Eilwyn moved to the others.

"Sten, keep watch, bring McWhistle. Scout the perimeter for anyone who could have set this."

"It will be done." Sten turned to jog back to where the traps had been laid.

"And be careful!" Eilwyn ordered. "Wynne, I need you to bring me the blue flasks from my pack, as well as rinse out an empty one, just in case. Leliana," Eilwyn turned as she spoke to her friend.

Zevran had already disrobed Alistair with alarming quickness, his dagger out and the remnants of his armored trousers in a heap by the back of the tent. He was working at the buckles of the chestplate, struggling a bit more with that, and she gestured for him to leave it be and keep Alistair aloft.

Her heart clenching tight and frightened, Eilwyn knelt and placed both palms down onto the shredded wound at the base of Alistair's leg.

_No..._

_Andraste preserve me, Wynne was right._

_My magic feels like sand against this. Powdering away at each touch of my mana, won't form anything tangible._

_What is this?_

"Eilwyn!" Leliana burst out. "Tell me what you need!"

"Leliana," she sputtered, working to expend her energy on just staunching the bleeding. She worked to pull his veins back, to keep them from retracting upwards into his flesh, and Alistair gave a strangled cry as his back convulsed. "I need you to grind the dried elfroot I have in my pack, my mortar and pestle are in the pocket, and I have to have it very fine, do you understand?"

"Very fine, got it," Leliana repeated, already running.

"Morrigan," Eilwyn cried, and the witch was at the opening as Wynne left. She looked angry, frustrated. "I need-"

"It's not any venom that I have studied," she spat. "It must be a spell of some sort, combined with poison. I can deconstruct the poison easily enough but the spell-"

"I was just thinking that exact thing," Eilwyn confirmed. "Check the base of the trap for runes of any kind, engravings in the dirt, but be careful. The way it's reacting to a healing mist is almost as if it's warding off any positive energy."

"It smells like teabags," Morrigan said. "It definitely had at least a coating of-"

"Nightshade, yes," Eilwyn agreed.

"And lingonberry leaves. Be careful, t'will stain your clothing something fierce."

There came a noise of derision, or anger, but Eilwyn couldn't tell if it was from Wynne, Leliana, or herself. Regardless, Morrigan was already gone.

Alistair thrashed harder, and Eilwyn pressed down onto the wound harder. An ooze of what looked like jellied blood pressed forth, and he began to tremble. His skin was growing feverish, sweaty and overheated.

"Zevran," Eilwyn called. "Grab me the pot from the side of my-"

"Done," the elf was at her side in an instant, with Leliana not far behind.

Wynne was returning with flasks in hand, and everyone moved only when Eilwyn said so. They were getting into a groove, and she made sure to voice her every thought aloud, even before she knew what she wanted.

"Good, set that there. Now, ah, now let me heat it up. Wynne, I need your hands here, press down and don't focus on the flesh, try to feel for the veins. You won't be able to fix them, but you can keep everything from shifting too far out of place. Um. I... I need you to..." Eilwyn swiped across her brow with the back of her arm, trying to focus. "Protect his nerve endings as best you can, until we can alleviate whatever is canceling out our magic. It won't be fixable yet, but we can try to maintain."

"How do you-"

"Just a gut feeling," Eilwyn answered. "Once you have a hold on the arteries, you can try to knit the bone. If you need my help, say so, I need you to keep whatever this is concentrated away from his heart."

Wynne nodded, speechless, and Eilwyn turned back to the task at hand.

She began to heat the pot, pouring in distillation agents, alcohols, and essences without measuring. She gauged by smell, by thickness, and by color. One of the empty flasks she used for combining ingredients with catalyst powders before adding to her brew, and at times she had to use Leliana's hands as she gave direction. With her left hand, Eilwyn kept careful control over the temperature beneath the metal of the pot as Zevran held it by the handle above the ground. When not helping mix ingredients, Leliana was at Eilwyn's side with the water skein, washing Alistair's calf again and again, rinsing at regular intervals while Wynne pressed to the wound.

The three of them worked diligently and silently for what felt like hours, but could only have been mere minutes. Whenever possible, Leliana pressed cool cloths to Alistair's forehead, and Wynne had successfully kept the wound from growing worse. The necrotizing effects of whatever was in Alistair's veins were still moving up, but ever so slowly, his skin color changing a purple and green bruise-like pigment up towards his knee.

Eilwyn could feel the exertion of her fellow mage merely to keep the bones and veins in place, with one hand on Alistair's knee while she set his ankle with the other palm. The crunch of bone and ligament was disconcerting, and Eilwyn tried to drown it out with the tap of her wooden spoon against the metal of the tin pot before her. Wynne was capable, strong, and they were succeeding.

_I think we're succeeding anyway._

But Alistair was not speaking, was barely conscious, and Eilwyn's only comfort was that his breathing was regular if not strained. For the most part, Eilwyn was the only one to speak, and it was only to give orders or mumble a note or change to herself aloud. As she let the brew cool momentarily, prepping for the addition of an herbal powder that could not be added to boiling liquid, she used both hands to grab for her journal. She was fairly confident, thought she knew the proper temperature, but needed to make sure. When she flipped through her herbalism journal for her most recent experimental notes, she paused only for a split second at the pressed rose in the very center.

_If he loses his..._

_No._

_Nobody is going to lose anything._

_Keep working._

She'd been correct. The powdered thistle she'd ground up had to be added cool or it would curdle the mixture. She began to regulate the temperature with deft little twists of her mana, back and forth alternating between frost and heat to make sure the liquid didn't crystallize. When she looked up once, Zevran was regarding her with something she had never seen before.

His eyes were dark, trained on her hands as they moved, and he glanced up at her with what looked to be awe. Eilwyn couldn't try to interpret it, not when her mind was a million different places, but she didn't have to. Right when their eyes connected, Zevran gave her a bob of his head. A sign of respect.

She nodded back, swallowing back the thick unease that was building in the back of her throat.

As her hodge-podge antidote began to come to a boil, Eilwyn felt a tap on her shoulder. She turned, saw that Morrigan had extended a small lyrium potion to her, and she allowed the witch to pour it into her mouth without hesitation.

It renewed her, and she felt the fatigue in her shoulders and lower back gloss over momentarily. She turned to her friend as she stirred mindlessly, listening for the sound of the bubbles as Morrigan relayed information and began to gather more chemical components for the poultice she had intended to make earlier, one that would slowly extract poison or venom or whatever it was. It would work perfectly, in theory, after Eilwyn's antidote counteracted the worst of it.

According to Morrigan, the trap had, indeed, had a rune beneath it. Luckily Eilwyn had looked over Morrigan's shoulder a time or two as Morrigan studied her grimoire. The rune was easily recognizable, Morrigan confirmed. She'd examined and very quickly tested the glossy sheen of oil along the teeth, separating it from Alistair's blood, and found that the rune was one of reactivity to iron. A catalyst, except one borne of magic and not powder or liquid.

Morrigan's conjecture was that the trap was meant for the werewolves, which was why it had snapped Alistair's bones to bits so cleanly. It had been enchanted to amplify the rotting poison, not venom, only upon the splash of blood. If it broke skin, it would therefore be a guaranteed kill.

Eilwyn paled at the implication, but Morrigan distracted her, however unintentionally, with a description of her methods.

The witch had taken a bit of it on her finger, a note that had Eilwyn shooting Morrigan a glance of angered disbelief, but Morrigan had observed that without the addition of blood it was merely something that would make one dizzy and ill. Nightshade and lingonberry leaves ensured that, along with a few other lubricating oils, if ingested it would not do the same potent damage.

"A child's poison," she said as she ground a petrified crow's feather into a fine dust. "One that I will be able to draw from his body quite easily."

"And the rune was merely amplification?" Eilwyn pried further, bringing up the wooden spoon to smell at the mixture she'd been concocting.

_A neutralizing agent. Absorbed through the skin, quicker through the wound._

_This will make everything stop in his veins that shouldn’t be there._

_Added in a numbing formula for the pain he must be in._

_Haven't tested it yet,though._

_What if-_

Eilwyn shook her head hard, trying to dislodge the doubts.

"'Tis amplification, yes," Morrigan answered, working the feather dust along with a crushed lifestone and two calcified bones into a finer powder. Her voice strained with the effort of working quickly. "But 'tis also counteraction."

"Meaning?"

"Until you are rid of it, the poison will not be slowed by magical means. It is a preventative, a way to keep whoever steps inside of it from being healed by a spell alone."

Eilwyn stopped stirring, glancing over at where Wynne was working with sweat beaded on her brow. Leliana's hands had joined Alistair's, holding his knee tight to constrict the flow of blood without use of a tourniquet, and Eilwyn moved to look at her love's face.

Pale, with eyes unseeing and dazed staring up at the ceiling of the tent, Alistair was listless and fading.

_Work faster._

Silently, with the information they'd gathered, the two women worked together passing one another ingredients back and forth until they had both a finished antidote and an extraction salve. Morrigan's would come later, after Eilwyn's. If Eilwyn's even worked.

Praying, her lips moving around a canticle as she shuffled over to Alistair's leg, Eilwyn began to work her thickened, viscous antidote into the frayed flesh of his calf and ankle.

He didn't even make a noise.

"Alistair," she said as the first tear fell, her voice strong and clear. "Sit up. You have to stay awake, to tell me how it feels."

Zevran moved behind his shoulders, picking up the Ferelden and propping him into a seated position practically in the Antivan's lap. With one arm about his waist, one arm about his shoulders, Zevran held Alistair's head aloft so that he could look up as Eilwyn worked.

"If it's tingling, it's working," she said, and she swiped tears from her face with the back of her arm. Her fingers were slick with crimson, sticky with the liquid she was working into his open wound and up his calf. She couldn't very well use them to dry her eyes, but her sleeve was rough and inefficient. Either that, or she was crying more than she realized. She joined Wynne's hands at Alistair's ankle, her mana mingling like colored ink in water with Eilwyn's.

Eilwyn was casting painkilling energy into his musculature as she massaged the antidote into the reactive, cursed poison of his wound... and she could feel it wasn't taking. Her magic slipped like talc through the enchantment made on the poison, and she gave a sob of frustration. Dipping her fingers back into the pot, she lathered on more.

_It has to work._

_I know it has to work._

_I've studied too hard for it not to work, worked too hard for this not to work._

_On paper, it makes so much sense, and Maker so help me, if it doesn't I'm going to-_

Alistair gave a shuddering gasp, then a groan. Eilwyn paused, her hands encircling the thick meat of his calf as Alistair gave a spasmodic thrash. His noise morphed to a whimper, and then a cry.

"It burns," he bit out, and he finally opened his eyes to look at her in the growing blackness of the tent. The sky outside must be falling down around them. Alistair's amber gaze was uncharacteristically dark and his pupils were blown wide. Eilwyn let out an exclamation of surprise, excited and scared.

"You're sure?"

"Yes, Eila," he bit out through clenched teeth. "Hard not to be sure."

"Like how?" she demanded, massaging through the blood with a greater ferocity. "Burns like how?"

_Have to get it to his knee._

_Have to neutralize as much as I can before it gets any further._

"Like lightning feels," he grunted, "in the air."

"Tingly," Eilwyn laughed, tears falling fat and free down her cheeks. "Exactly as I said!"

"Yes, yes," Morrigan was suddenly at Alistair's other leg, and she joined in helping Eilwyn massage at his muscles. "Pour it all. Leliana, be ready to rinse it with that bottle once his leg has absorbed enough of it."

"Wynne, how are the ligaments?" Eilwyn asked.

"We're finally moving them," Wynne muttered. "Thank the Maker."

She sounded exhausted, and Eilwyn made a note to thank her later. Alistair was convulsing with each movement of their hands along his leg. Zevran had a good grip on him, though, tight without being too restrictive.

Eilwyn looked up at him only once, and saw that Alistair had reached up to hold onto the elf's hand. Their knuckles were white, the both of them, and Zevran was not paying attention to Eilwyn at all. He was whispering something low near Alistair's ear, something that had Alistair nodding slowly in agreement.

"How does it feel now?" she asked. "Where's the tingling?"

"By my… my thigh."

"Good," Eilwyn moved up to begin massaging at his thigh, working the musculature from his knee up to his groin, right to the ball of his joint. "Morrigan, put more on the wound, press it up."

"I know how to administer an antidote," the witch replied, but she did as asked.

"How does it feel?" Eilwyn asked again, training Alistair with a stern, clinical eye.

He was holding back sounds of pain, his hair clinging to his forehead and his gaze still unfocused. He alternated between flinching in agony and drawing in deep breaths.

"Alistair."

"Burns still. Less pain."

_Good._

_It doesn't feel the same, pouring mana into him._

_Feels like clay being formed beneath my fingers again, not powder._

_Feels like the painkiller's working._

"Still only at your thigh?" she asked.

"Higher now," Alistair whispered. "But yes. Mostly there."

"Wynne?"

"We’ve connected tissue. At last," she said with a heavy sigh. "I need to splint it, though. I'll be back in just a moment."

"Take your time," Eilwyn said, noting how shaky her friend's fingers were. "Take a drink, try to relax. The poultice will take a minute."

"Eila," Alistair said, a groan through gritted teeth.

Now that they could flood him with healing magic, now that the worst part was seemingly over, she could feel more tears coming. Sniffling, she realized that she wasn't hearing things. He was saying her name differently.

"I'm right here," she said.

"You… you need to promise me something."

"Anything," Eilwyn whispered.

He gave her a sickly little grin, his face showing exhausted relief.

"Promise you won't let McWhistle near my pack," he breathed. "I have some salted meats I'm," he bit down hard as pain seemed to flood through his leg, then continued, "I'm really looking forward to eating when I wake up."

Eilwyn snorted, laughing despite the tears, and nodded helplessly. Alistair relaxed slightly onto the blankets and furs, but before Eilwyn could reply, he took a few short breaths then thrashed backwards with pain.

Behind her, Leliana gave a little apology, and Eilwyn could hear the splash of rinse. It was slightly acidic, a cleanser, meant to wash away the blood as best as possible and keep the wound clear for the extractive poultice Morrigan would apply.

"Shh," Eilwyn rubbed along Alistair's bare thigh absently, her fingers catching in the fine hairs along his leg. "I know, it hurts."

Rather than saying anything, Alistair reached down and grabbed Eilwyn's fingers. As he threaded their knuckles together, he let out a long sigh and relaxed back against Zevran.

"Tis done," Morrigan said. "I will help Wynne with the splint."

"I'm going to check on Sten," Leliana muttered.

Left in the tent with Zevran and Alistair, Eilwyn began to clean up as best she could. With a spare rag, she cleaned up the remnants of the antidote along Alistair's thigh. She tried to give him back some modesty, pulling the blankets up about his thighs even as she kept his leg free to the open air. Wordlessly, Zevran began to resume unbuckling Alistair's armor. Eilwyn helped, reaching up to shimmy the silverite chestplate from his torso. After a few moments of positioning the warrior like a doll, Zevran laid the sleeping Alistair down onto the furs. When Eilwyn looked over she noted her warrior's expression was exhausted but not one of agony.

_You did it._

Strange. Her mental words never echoed in her ears. She looked up through the fog of tears, through the congestion she felt in her sinuses, and noticed Zevran was at her side.

Had he spoken it then?

"You did it," he repeated, and Eilwyn nodded as he handed her a rag.

She wiped her hands on it, saw how hard they trembled, saw the brown of dried blood flaking off of her palms onto the cloth. Suddenly, and not of her own volition, Eilwyn dissolved into a mess of sobs.

_That was-_

_I had no idea what to do, at least I don't know how I knew what to do, I just-_

_I did it._

_How did I do that?!_

The anxiety of the moment crashed down around her, and as she cried Zevran held her against his shoulder. He grabbed the skein of rinse and began to wash her hands as she sobbed, scrubbing her fingernails free of drying blood flakes and clumps of residue from the neutralizing agent. After a split second, she took a deep breath and let out a shaky laugh.

"Oof. I'm sorry," she stammered, hating that she had broken. "I sh-shouldn't be, be-"

"Do not apologize," Zevran insisted. "This reaction is normal. I promise you."

"I just," she sniffed hard, trying to still her hiccuping breaths. "I don't know why I'm crying n-now."

"Because you can," he said softly. "Because the danger has passed, and the man you love is no longer dying. Well," Zevran scoffed, "we are all dying, merely by living, but that is an existential conversation for another day, little dove."

Eilwyn wanted to laugh, at herself, at Zevran, at the idiocy of the poorly timed joke, but instead she felt a wave of turmoil wash over her once again. She fell forward onto Zevran, leaning hard against his shoulder as he held both of her hands in one of his. She felt his other hand at the back of her head, petting her curls, and he spoke in a language she didn’t understand as she let herself wallow for a moment in her feelings.

Zevran wasn't wrong. She needed this.

Alistair had fallen, and she hadn't been able to watch as someone else helped. She had had to step up and do it herself, to take care of him, to ensure he stayed alive.

And she'd been terrified, scared worse than during her Harrowing.

Her Harrowing had been necessary too, but she'd been prepared. She'd had a chance to have a sense of foreboding build about her person, so that when the urgent time to delivery finally came, it was a relief. Alistair being hurt was so unexpected that Eilwyn had no idea how she'd had the wherewithal to react like she had.

This was something they had all trusted her to do, something she didn't realize she had been trained to do with every diligent note she'd taken and with every book she'd fallen asleep poring over in the Circle. She cried in relief, more than anything, her embarrassment gone, and after a moment Zevran pushed her back. Before she could stop him, he leaned forward and kissed her forehead.

It didn’t feel intrusive. If anything, it felt like something a brother would do, and Eilwyn sighed heavily as he pulled away.

"Finished?" he asked.

She nodded, unable to even open her eyes. She was suddenly so tired. Without a word, Zevran took her hands and finished cleaning up her fingers and palms.

By the time she quieted, Wynne had returned with Morrigan and begun to set Alistair's leg.

He did not wake, but Eilwyn had gathered enough of her composure to check on his vitals. His breathing was fine, even, and he responded to her touch with murmurs and sighs. As she pushed his hair back from his forehead, she felt Wynne lay a hand on her shoulder.

"You take the time you need," Wynne whispered as the others left the tent. "Sten seems convinced there was no ambush. It was a fluke."

Eilwyn snorted.

_Of course it was._

_We're so lucky, aren't we?_

"This is as good a place to set up camp as any," Wynne continued. "The sun is going down, so the timing is decent. We'll stay here as long as we have to."

"Thank you," Eilwyn answered, bringing one hand up to squeeze Wynne's fingers. "I'll be out in a minute."

"No, you should stay here, in case he wakes up," Wynne insisted.

"But-"

"I'll bring you supper, dear. No buts."

Eilwyn swallowed back any other protests. She nodded, and once the tent flap closed the heard the busy sounds of camp being erected beyond her. For a brief second, guilt streaked hot through her worry, as if she should be helping the others. But then she heard Alistair stirring slightly, and she knew she was where she needed to be.

_Eila._

After a few minutes, of watching his chest rise and fall, Eilwyn reached out and laid her palm flat in the center of Alistair's chest. His muscles leapt reflexively, a tiny reaction she would never have been able to feel had he been wearing his armor. She spread her fingers wider, sliding back and forth from his sternum to his shoulders, then back again. She could sense the catch of chest hair against the fabric of the tunic he was wearing, against the pressure of her fingers, but it was so slight. She had seen it in summer. Downy, golden, soft against his brown skin. She had wanted to touch him like this ever since. It was an act she had hoped she'd first do during a time of intimacy. Not a time of duress.

_Don't think about that now._

_Think about getting him comfortable._

Once he was free of everything, his layers of tunic had exposed him to the chill of the afternoon air and he'd begun to shiver. She piled more blankets over him, tucking him in while being careful not to put any weight on his healing leg. After she was sure he was comfortably sleeping, Eilwyn settled on her side above the blankets.

Her heart was still beating too quickly, her skin too warm and her mind too anxious. She lay at his side, curved about his body, with her knees drawn up to her hips so that she would not knock accidentally against his hurt limb. She resumed her caresses over the blankets, petting him absently just to have something to do with her hands, and watched his facial expression to make sure he wasn't in any unnecessary pain.

He was relaxed, regaining some of his color. She'd wake him up in an hour and feed him a potion, and maybe drink one herself, and-

_He's beautiful._

Her thoughts stilled, and she brought her fingers up to Alistair's jaw. With trembling fingertips, she traced a line along his stubble and down the length of his neck to where his collar lay open.

Alistair was always handsome, there was no denying that. But she rarely got to see him like this. He looked like someone who would inspire oil paintings, when his face was relaxed like this.

The ferocity he showed in battle reminded her of sculptures from Tevinter she'd seen, of men and women with weapons outstretched elegantly upwards. The playfulness he showed in camp reminded her of an impish little puppy. Eager to please, rough and tumble, bright in an effortless way.

But like this, he was more beautiful than she realized. His bone structure was evident, the curve of his cheek and the jut of his jaw distinct and precious. Her body and heart ached with longing she didn't know how to voice, solace and yearning mixing together as she watched his chest gently rise and fall.

_I've never really seen him sleep._

_If this hadn't happened, would he have let me?_

It had been about a week since she'd undressed for him in the forest, since he'd licked his thumb and asked to do just this-

Eilwyn blushed, her secretive thoughts inappropriate and ill-timed. She snuggled closer, getting more comfortable, and tried not to think about anything. Not about how good Alistair felt, or about how Zevran should have warned them about the traps, or about who could have set them with such an enchantment in the first place, or-

_Eila._

_I love you._

She sighed. Thinking about nothing might not work, so she would need to replace the worries with something else.

With a touch of difficulty, Eilwyn cleared her mind of all the things she could chase her tail with, and pictured a waterfall instead. Behind it, the glowing bumblebees of magelights bobbing between two people embracing in secret. She pictured a forest of lush, verdant green instead of dead browns and greys. She pictured sun hitting her skin, thunderstorms rolling in where she could watch them from a covered window, a gauzy breeze touching at her bare shoulder as she ran her hands down bare skin.

She let that image swirl about her like a thick, heady incense until she fell asleep curved against Alistair's body, her arm thrown over his chest and her cheek snuggled up against his shoulder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, but the idea of walking into a trap completely traumatizes me. The characters, namely our syrupy sweet warrior, would just tra-la-la right up IN THERE. Like it's NOTHING. I would hear the clamp in-game and just CRINGE, and even though I know they're fine, just yanking their gambs out the damn things, in reality? It would be horrifying! Traps are no joke!
> 
> So... y'know, you're welcome, for bringing that horror to this chapter haha. Here is my homage to not increasing Alistair's trap sense in the slightest.
> 
> It'll be okay though. Promise!
> 
> The title is a snippet from one of my favorite Inqusition bard songs, Enchanter.  
> Our little girl's growing up, isn't she? ˚✧₊⁎( ˘ω˘ )⁎⁺˳✧༚


	29. Mutual Vulnerability

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've been waiting for the smut implied in this "explicit" rating, boy howdy you're in luck from here on out (灬ºωº灬)♡
> 
> This is a HEFTY chapter, as an apology for my hiatus. Not as far as weighty subjects, just a lot of slow and deliberate... y'know, just read it at your own pace (/∇＼*)｡o○♡

Candlewax. The first thing she could smell was candlewax. A window must have been open, because the heady weight of summer rain and lightning on the horizon drifted in like a lazy cat, back and forth past her nostrils, as if undecided whether it would stick around. Beyond it lay inkwells and lyrium powder, citrus and cedar, almond paste and bergamot.

_ Home _ .

Eilwyn shifted, rolling over, and found herself with her arm almost dangling over her bunk. Blearily, she brought her other arm up so she could rub at her eyes, and when she blinked a couple of times her chambers came into view.

Well, barely. It was nighttime and visibility was low. The other bunks seemed to be inhabited at least, every one of them filled with sleeping apprentices. The soft flutter of a dozen breaths filled the chamber, echoing lightly back from the stone as Eilwyn tried to will awareness back into her tired bones.

_ Why did I wake up? _

_ This is normally my lullaby. _

Then she felt it. A hand at her shoulder. She barely flinched, almost having expected it, something vaguely familiar about this entire ordeal. When she looked up at the Templar touching her, she let out a gasp.

“Cullen?”

_ Why? _

_ I… can’t remember. _

“It’s time,” Cullen breathed.

_ Oh. _

“Do I need anything?” she whispered.

“No,” he said. “Nothing more than the robes you chose.”

“Let me…” Eilwyn swallowed, the slow realization that Cullen’s hand was still warm on her shoulder hitting her in the center of her chest.

_ This feels odd. _

_ Familiar, but he’s never touched me like this. _

_ He must be frightened. _

“Let me get dressed,” she finished.

There was no fear for her Harrowing, merely a sense of watching herself. As if this wasn’t happening. Her heart was in her chest, but it felt like a bird bouncing against a cage door more than her own organ beating out adrenaline. She knew that she could do this, knew they wouldn't choose her so early if she couldn't do this, but a Harrowing was just what its name implied.

Eilwyn woodenly pulled her robes over her body, exposing her collarbone more than she remembered, with her back turned dutifully to her Templar. As she buckled her bodice about herself, a rumble of thunder rolled low and growly just beyond the window.

When she went to look outside, to glance up at the window, there was only sky. The thunder growled once more, and Eilwyn immediately shifted into a protective stance. There was a heft to her spine, her staff was once more in place, and she could feel the ceramic-woven mail of her battle-worn robes about her torso.

Gone was the smell of ink and parchment, the comfort of her home replaced by a mossy underground dank that stretched its fingers out and thrust upwards into her nostrils. She was overrun by the smell of sulfur and pitch, blood and rot. She could even smell it in her own veins. The taint that would kill her. The tickle at the back of her mind that could save her. Her imminent death at the hands of monsters unfathomable.

_ This is familiar. _

_ I know this well. _

The thunder was not thunder at all, but a warning from below. She glanced down through eyes that weren’t her own, glanced down at the throngs of darkspawn moving together as a single entity made up of thousands. It was overwhelming, dizzying, and she closed her eyes to the horror of the thunderous screech from the archdemon.

When she opened them again, she was breathing heavily, and clinging to someone. Back in the tent. No sulfur. No ink. No tickles, and no Harrowing robe.

With a jolt, the body beneath hers startled awake. It was some kind of comfort, to realize that Alistair was with her, and that he’d just had the same dream. His breathing was like hers, panicked and recovering, and his hands automatically moved up to catch her at the nape of her neck. It was like he knew she was there, even in the dark of the tent, because his sleepy palms traveled over her curls and down her back to further soothe her.

Or perhaps to soothe himself.

“Are you alright?” she whispered. A stupid question, but she couldn’t think of what else to ask him.

“Y-yes,” he said with difficulty.

His voice was rusty, croaky from sleep, and Eilwyn felt a traitorous little shiver of pleasure thread through her spine.

_ Ease up. _

_ He’s hurt and had a nightmare. _

_ Be a good girl. _

She winced at the phrasing, something that smacked of Templar assurance, something she hadn’t mentally brought forth since returning to Calenhad.

“How’s the leg?” she asked, trying to refocus herself.

Alistair seemed to shift a bit, and Eilwyn was starkly aware of how much of her was touching him. She’d remained above the furs and blankets, but had thrown her arm completely about his person and snuggled in deep against his chest. One of her knees was up at his pelvis, her calf out of the way of his broken ankle. Her other leg was stretched out alongside him, her hip far enough away that she wouldn’t accidentally knock into his injury.

“I can flex a bit,” he said, sounding as if he was surprised. “It hurts, but nothing like before.”

“Here,” Eilwyn started to push off of him, intending to heal him a bit further to ensure full range of motion, but he caught her wrist gently in his hand.

“Don’t move,” he begged, so soft a whisper that she almost wondered if he’d said it at all.

“What? Alistair wh-”

“Shh.”

Eilwyn stilled. There was no sign of darkspawn, no noises outside to alert-

_ Oh. _

_ Silence when there should be camp sounds. _

She put a finger to his lips, a gesture to keep silent and that she would too, and before he could protest she was at the tent flap. Peering outside, Eilwyn saw that there was no fire near them. For a moment her heart dropped, thinking they’d been abandoned, or that there had been an ambush she had slept through. But then a glow through skeletal bark caught her eye.

Eilwyn breathed a sigh of relief. The fire was a few yards away, with tents past the outcropping of saplings that blocked the emergency one from view. The reason they did not hear anyone was because of the persistent, shuddering wind through the dry leaves, not because their camp had been decimated.

Eilwyn breathed a shaky sigh of relief, her breath puffing outwards in a desperate little groan. Beyond the trees, the flames blinked as someone walked back and forth between tents, and she heard a little tinkling laugh. Leliana must be switching watch. Eilwyn looked up, and judged quickly by the moon’s place in the sky that they’d missed supper by a few hours.

She wasn’t hungry, though. There was no reason to go out and join her friends, not when Alistair was worrying behind her. Glancing down in the dark, the moon up above providing generous light, Eilwyn saw McWhistle. She grinned.

_ Our little guard is doing a good job. _

“Hey buddy,” she whispered, and even though he didn’t raise his head from where he was sleeping, his rump immediately began to wag. “You stay there, stay asleep okay?”

He listened to her, giving a growly yawn before perking his ears back towards the forest.

“Who’s on watch?” Alistair breathed from within. “Why isn’t there a fire?”

“There is a fire,” Eilwyn said, moving back into the tent and closing it. “And McWhistle’s watching our tent.”

“That’s… new,” Alistair muttered.

“I’m sure he’s not the only one,” Eilwyn chuckled. “The others made a camp a bit further away.”

“Further away?”

“Yes. Just beyond a few trees.”

“Huh. I don’t smell that bad,” Alistair said, and tried to shift up on the bed of furs to a seated position with a wince.

“Don’t,” Eilwyn said, immediately tossing a flock of magelights into the air.

They bobbed dully about the small tent, illuminating the disarray of haphazard blankets that had been thrown together.

“My arsecheek is asleep,” Alistair protested, trying to push up and draw his hips back.

“Better that than twisting your ankle further,” Eilwyn shot back.

She moved to Alistair’s leg and began to check the splint.

He made a noise as soon as her fingertips touched the arch of his foot. A kind of moan, one she couldn’t read.

Was it pain, or was he ticklish?

She ran her other hand up along his ankle, stopping it just below his calf so that her palm covered his tendon. He made the noise again, and it shot a spark of desire through Eilwyn’s core. At first, she thought she’d imagined it, but then he cleared his throat as if to cover it up.

_ Be good. _

_ Don’t think on it. _

“Any reason why they’d make camp so far that we can’t hear them?” he asked, his voice still gravely from sleep.

“My best guess is that  _ this _ tent was erected on short notice,” she said, ignoring her inappropriate instincts. “It’s got saplings at its back, a ridge at the other, but it is far enough off the path to be safe. However, there’s no room for other tents around it. Rather than move you in your current state,” she tightened a knot that had come loose on his splint, and Alistair winced almost like he was illustrating her point. “They chose to make camp nearby.”

“How courteous of them.”

“I’m sure we’ll have someone come by to check as soon as they’re able,” Eilwyn said. “I certainly didn’t want to wake you. Maybe they felt the same.”

“Wake me?” Alistair hissed as she pressed to a tender spot on his ankle. “Trying to pretend as if you weren’t asleep yourself, are you?”

Eilwyn said nothing, her skin suddenly too warm.

“You were the one laying atop me when I came to, I’ll remind you,” Alistair pressed, his voice teasing and lovely.

“A-and?” she retorted. “Is that a problem?”

Eilwyn blushed fiercely, and grabbed at the base of his calf to feel for the divots of healing scar tissue.

“Ow, easy,” he protested.

“Sorry.”

“No, no, it’s fine.” Alistair inhaled deeply, then sighed. “You, ah… you stayed with me, then? The whole time?”

“Of course.”

“Ugh,” he leaned back against the blankets with a sound of disgust. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not-”

“Your idiot protector stepped headfirst into a trap meant for bears, and then you had to spend your evening worrying.”

“Werewolves,” she said, shaking her head.

“What?”

“It wasn’t a trap meant for bears, it was meant for werewolves.” Eilwyn sighed deeply. “And it’s not something you should blame yourself for. Zevran was supposed to scout ahead-”

“It’s not Zevran’s fault, don’t blame him,” Alistair said, sounding as if it was a begrudging remark. “I was the one who got caught.”

“To be fair, though,” Eilwyn began to release painkilling, relaxing wisps of magic into his calf as she massaged his ankle. “It was an enchanted trap. You’ve been stabbed by regular traps before and been fine.”

“Mmm,” he hummed. “Whatever you’re doing is… helping, at least.”

“Is it?” Eilwyn asked, distracted.

His leg was bare. She was running her hands over his bare leg.

Alistair gave a groan, the kind of noise emitted only when a pleasurable thing takes one by surprise, and Eilwyn’s hands fluttered a few centimeters above his flesh in hesitation.

“No, don’t stop,” he begged. “That feels-”

Eilwyn let out a gasp, a noise she hadn’t meant to let escape. It stopped Alistair from finishing his sentence, and Eilwyn became starkly aware of how hard they were both breathing.

For a few precious heartbeats, they said nothing, and Eilwyn’s hands moved as if they had a mind of their own. Up from his ankle, over the curve of his calf, back down again past the cut of muscles by his shin, then up once more to his knee, where she could feel his thigh flexing automatically at her touch.

_ I’m touching him. _

She caught another noise before it could give her away. If she stayed professional, if she didn’t let out how much she was enjoying this, he wouldn’t send her away. He would let her stay in his tent if she kept herself under control.

_ “Would you be satisfied stopping there?” _

_ “Me neither.” _

Alistair made a noise, and she felt him stretching his ankle against her mana. His muscles felt strong, so she helped him flex by pressing down on the top of his foot.

“Gently,” he begged, and Eilwyn grit her teeth against how good it felt to hear him say that.

“Does it hurt?”

He shook his head, but she could see his jaw clenched even through the buttery warmth of the magelights.

“Liar,” she laughed.

“It doesn’t,” Alistair protested. “Your hands, they feel-”

Ignoring her conscience, the little voice that told her to be good, Eilwyn indulged in a long, steady caress up past Alistair’s knee. She justified it to herself, telling herself that since she was still knitting bruised bone with magic that it was okay to touch.

His thigh leapt beneath her fingertips, and she watched, enraptured, as Alistair’s eyes closed and his tongue darted out to draw his lip between his teeth. He let out a shaky breath, voiced as a groan, and Eilwyn sensed a dart of guilt course through her core.

_ He can’t move. _

_ He can’t move from under my hands, I’ve trapped him, I’ve- _

“Is this…” she swallowed past the torrent of words milling about in her brain. “Is this okay? I can stop."

“Yes,” Alistair’s eyes shot open as he burst out the word in a whisper. “I mean, yes it’s okay, no you don’t have to stop.”

When their eyes met, Eilwyn searched his expression for the permission he was vocalizing. Alistair looked distraught, but eager, his eyes bright like when they stood together on the edge of a cliff and wondered how far the drop was.

_ Fear. _

_ Excitement. _

“I, ah,” Alistair cleared his throat, his eyes fleeing Eilwyn’s only for a moment. When they came back to meet hers, she saw tension leave his jaw. He relaxed, and his thigh shifted beneath her fingertips.

Maybe it was just Alistair trying to get comfortable with his injury. Maybe it was an involuntary movement. But as he bent his knee just slightly and let his leg fall slowly to the side, Eilwyn couldn’t help but feel as if it was neither of those.

No. The way he let his legs fall slightly open to her, it felt like an invitation.

Breathless, he brought his hand to where her curls had fallen free of her massive braid as she slept. He twisted a finger slowly through a large ringlet, letting its smooth ribbon glide over his index and middle fingers’ knuckles. Emboldened by his reaction, Eilwyn rested her hand fully against his thigh.

Her fingers splayed along his muscle as his leg tightened briefly, the flex more of a twitch she wasn’t sure he’d meant to do. Alistair’s eyes widened, and his lips parted as if he was going to say something, but then he swallowed audibly. His hand grazed against her forearm, and he gave a small chuckle.

“What?” Eilwyn breathed.

“The tables have turned,” he whispered in the warm glow of her magelights.

“How so?”

“You are fully armored, whereas I,” Alistair inhaled deeply, then sighed. “I am undressed and fully at your mercy.”

_ Oh. _

“I hadn’t realized,” Eilwyn replied, her voice shaky with eagerness.

What did it mean, that he was at her mercy?

Was it a plea to slow down, to back up?

Or was that further invitation to touch?

She tested it, slipping her palm upwards towards his hip, and Alistair’s breathing hitched.

“Pain?” Eilwyn asked.

“No,” he groaned in reply. “Not at all.”

“Alistair,” she purred, her voice low. “Do you like this?”

He leaned up before she realized he’d moved, using what was most likely all of his strength to surge forward and catch her lips in a kiss.

Eilwyn let out a cry, her mouth parting immediately for his prying tongue, and she could feel the catch of her teeth against his lips. He answered with a moan of his own, then another, tasting her and vocalizing it in a way they hadn’t been able to do before.

_ Someone will hear. _

Alistair’s hand went gently to her throat, tracing trembling lines up to her earlobe with his fingertips as if she were about to dematerialize if he let her go. When she hummed in pleasure, he seemed to feel it in his hands, and she could sense him smiling even as his open mouth brushed against the sensitive curve of her upper lip.

_ Andraste’s arse, let them hear, then. _

As he kissed her, she shifted up from where she was kneeling and grew braver with her hand. She let her fingertips creep up towards where the blanket lay across his torso and lap, right up until her nails caught against the fur she’d thrown on him before settling.

High up on his thigh. Higher than she’d ever touched before. The muscles there dipped in a cut, evidence of how walking with heavy plate armor and sparring against a Qunari had kept this warrior in peak condition.

Well. Besides his ankle snapping almost in half back there.

Ignoring that memory, Eilwyn slid her fingertips beneath the fur, to where she could feel the edge of his smalls.

Alistair let out a desperate noise just as she felt him deepen the kiss, his tongue dancing against hers. With a flick, he’d pulled her tongue into his own mouth, the invitation new and the sensation overwhelming. Eilwyn flexed her fingers, her nails digging gently into the skin of his groin, and Alistair pulled back immediately.

They were both breathing heavy and fast, perhaps both afraid and eager.

“What is it?” Eilwyn begged. “Time to… to stop?”

He shook his head, then swallowed hard, his throat bobbing visibly as he struggled to find his own words.

“Do you think we could… maybe, perhaps… touch over our clothes?” Alistair asked.

Eilwyn’s heart caught, adrenaline beating through her every limb. She didn’t think she’d caught that, didn’t think Alistair was asking what he was. But then he brought his thumb to her chin and tipped her face up.

“If it’s with you,” he continued, his voice breathy and faintly giggly, “then I’m sure the Maker wouldn’t mind.”

He gave a laugh when she said nothing, then seemingly tried to lighten his tone.

“Plus, if clothing separates us, it doesn’t really count as something sinful, right? I mean,” he cleared his throat, as if he caught the pained twitch in Eilwyn’s expression at the wording. “Not that it’s a sin, but it’s just… I’m sorry. That thought got away from me, I didn’t mean-”

“Is that what it’s about?” Eilwyn frowned.

“What?”

“Your hesitation. Your…” she grit her teeth. “Your ability to stop, before. Was it about what the Maker might think if you did something with-”  _ a mage _ “-someone else?”

“No,” Alistair gave a mirthless laugh, his words spilling out quick. “No, no, it’s, ah, I mean. I just…”

Eilwyn pursed her lips together tight, trying to quell the insecurity welling within. Alistair paused, taking a deep breath, and then tried again.

“I’ve never done anything with another person before. Ever.” He shook his head as he sighed. “You know how the Chantry talks about that kind of thing. Makes it seem like it’s the worst thing to do to a person, save if you’re married. As if pleasure condemns you unless you’ve got a gold band ‘bout your finger.” He scoffed gently. “Never figured out how a ceremony made much a difference in that, but what do I know?”

Eilwyn let out a breath as well, her hand relaxing against his upper thigh.

“I…” she smiled. “I’m nervous about that too.”

“You are?”

He sounded skeptical, and his eyebrow quirk made her laugh.

“Yes,” she said past her helpless smile. “Terrified, actually.”

“Why?”

“Because of exactly what you said,” Eilwyn blurted. “They made it sound like making love was essentially signing a death certificate in the eyes of the Maker!”

“Right?” Alistair dropped his hands in order to sit up before her. “Did you get sermons about it when you were younger?”

“Yes!”

“About fifteen?”

“Thirteen, but yes!” Eilwyn rolled her eyes as her words spilled forth. “I remember they sat us all in a circle, made us fold our hands, and gave us some lecture about ‘control over ones’ desires being tantamount in surviving a Harrowing’. It was the worst!”

“Did you have the personal devotions after? Where they make you-”

“Confess in that little corner?”

“Yes! With the statue of Andraste staring you down, Maferath’s balls I hated it,” Alistair laughed “I felt like admitting that I had a bit of a crush on one of the other recruits was going to doom me to being sent back to Arl Eamon in utter disgrace.”

“It might have been different for Templars,” Eilwyn said, removing her hand to place it in her own lap as she eagerly sat forward in the dark. Her magelights were flickering, and she sent a secondary batch up without thinking as she spoke. “But with mages, we were absolutely banned from any contact. No touching, no hand-holding, no-”

“Kissing?”

“Certainly not!” she protested, holding a hand to the center of her chest as if the mere thought made her feel faint.

Alistair laughed, and she felt his fingers trace smoothly along the outside of her wrist. For a moment, his touch brought a warm twist of desire back to her stomach, but she cleared her throat and tried to ignore that.

“I remember people still… found ways,” Eilwyn finished.

_ Like late nights when everyone else is asleep. _

_ With pillows. _

_ Or the edge of a desk that one time. _

Eilwyn felt her color rise, but luckily Alistair didn’t seem to notice.

“I was never brave enough to do anything with another person, but mages did… connect,” she whispered. “To me, though, it was always really scary. To want something so badly, but to fear it so heavily.”

“Mmm,” he sighed. “I think I understand that part, at least. Never wanted to be struck down by lightning, so I kept my hands to myself. Not, not that there were many lined up to pursue, mind you,” Alistair stammered. “I just meant that I was more likely to get a smack in the sparring ring than a cuddle from a pretty girl. Is all.”

She glanced up in the dim light.

“What?”

“Was it really different for Templars, or did I just tell myself that to make myself feel better?” she asked.

Alistair seemed to mull it over for a moment.

“It wasn’t much different. We were allowed to pursue relationships, sometimes marry. I knew of two higher in command who were wed, during my training. But as far as other things go…” he cleared his throat. “I was told to wait until marriage,” Alistsir muttered. “And I thought everyone took it pretty seriously,  barring a few exceptions.”

“Did you?”

“Well,” he pulled a face before melting back into an embarrassed grin. “Yes and no.”

Eilwyn’s heart dropped.

“You said you hadn’t licked any lampposts,” she mumbled.

Alistair laughed out loud, and he reached out to grab for her hand.

“I haven’t, sweet girl,” he murmured, bringing her knuckles up to his mouth to plant a kiss there. Eilwyn scooted closer, their hips now touching as she adjusted her knees at his pillows.

“Then what do you mean, yes and no?”

“I was,” he cleared his throat. “I was referring to the act one does when one might find oneself, ah, particularly tempted and… alone…”

“Oh.”

Eilwyn’s teeth clacked shut.

_ Wait. _

_ Is that… also a sin? _

She blanched.

“I know,” Alistair whispered, watching her face fall. “I know it’s a bit vulgar, I probably shouldn’t have brought it up, but the other night-”

He paused, seemingly trying to gather his thoughts, and it gave Eilwyn a moment to recover.

_ He thinks I’m ashamed for him. _

_ Not for myself. _

“The other night,” Alistair tried again, “when you… offered to come back to my tent?”

“Yes.”

“I asked if we could wait on anything more.”

Eilwyn bit her lip.

“I remember,” she whispered.

“I’ve been, um,” he raised his eyes to the ceiling and cleared his throat. “I’ve been thinking about that decision since we left the Dalish, and it’s plagued me. I feel like a fool.”

They were quiet for a moment, and Eilwyn watched as he closed his eyes and kissed her knuckles once more. He looked afraid, but also as if he were concentrating, and she felt a puzzle piece click into place.

“Oh,” Eilwyn breathed. “You want me.”

Alistair burst out with a strained giggle.

“Of course I do!” he said, sounding so shocked that Eilwyn couldn’t help but smile. A delicious slide of pleasure streaked from her sternum down to the cleft between her thighs.

_ Say it again. _

“I didn’t stop you because I didn’t want you, Eilwyn,” he continued, “I stopped us because I thought that our first time should be somewhat more special than just… up against a tree,” he finished, his voice lower.

She hummed in what she hoped he took as thoughtfulness, but then her mouth betrayed her.

“You can do it against a tree?”

Alistair laughed again, and she saw his color darken in the dim light.

“I imagine you could.”

“Did you?” Eilwyn pressed, her voice a little breathy whisper.

“Wh-what?”

“Did you imagine it yourself?” Eilwyn breathed.

She realized she was open, eager, displaying her curiosity almost unabashedly in the dark of the tent, too close and too warm and too daring. She knew she should tone it down, act more reserved, but she wanted to know. She burned to know.

Alistair let out a quick exhale, as if he was surprised to hear her ask such a thing, but then he nodded.

“I’ve imagined it every night since,” he breathed.

The idea of Alistair wanting such a thing was so deeply arousing to her, so sudden a thing, that Eilwyn felt the need to shift how she was kneeling. Through her smalls, just from a few kisses and some hypothetical talk, she could feel her slick soaking through layer after layer of her clothing.

_ Vulgar. _

The word was a harmless one, now that Eilwyn recognized it more as a way they’d been raised, not how Alistair saw her. Or saw things like  _ this _ , for that matter.

“I see.” Eilwyn bit her lip, eagerness emboldening her. “So… about what you said before. Of us touching over the clothes.”

Alistair didn’t move.

“Do you think about touching me?” she asked. “About me, touching you? When you're alone, I mean?”

His chest rose and fall in a quick hitched breath, and he nodded helplessly. His pupils were wide, his lips parted, and he wore an expression of almost disbelief. As if this were a rabbithole in a dream, and he was following it merely to see where it led.

“Which would you like? Me, or you?”

“Me or you what?” he whispered.

“Being touched first,” Eilwyn answered.

“If… you wanted to touch me first, I wouldn’t mind,” Alistair said, then cleared his throat. “I keep thinking about how brave you were, the other night, at the Dalish camp.”

Eilwyn scoffed.

“Brave?”

Alistair nodded.

“Yes. You knew what you wanted. You wanted me to touch you, and you weren’t afraid of being rejected or bad at it or-”

“I was still afraid,” she protested.

“Then how did you find the guts to do it?” he begged. “To ask me so plainly?”

“Because I love you,” she whispered, leaning down close so that her hair cascaded over one shoulder to tickle at his chest. “And I want you, Alistair.”

Alistair made a tiny noise in the back of his throat, but rather than saying anything else, he dropped her hand back to her lap. Before she could react, he was pulling the furs from his body. He piled blankets at his side, revealing himself in the dark. Eilwyn watched him shiver from the cold of the tent air, and she instinctively placed her palm at the center of his chest to try to warm him.

He winced, as if her hand was cold, but then his gaze returned to hers.

Her palm was at the opening of his tunic, and she hadn’t been brave enough to look down at his bare thighs and smalls yet. Her eyes focused on his, Eilwyn took his wrist with her other hand. Slowly, she raised it to the center of her chest so that he was touching her too. She felt his heart beating out a deep, steady rhythm against her palm, and she closed her eyes.

_ Such a connection. _

_ Such fear. _

_ But we’re in this together. _

When she opened her eyes again, Alistair’s fear seemed to be abating. His eyes were heavy-lidded, dark in the dim lighting of the tent, and Eilwyn had a sudden flash of inspiration.

Before she could overthink it, she was moving. She dropped her hand and crawled to Alistair’s other side, the one opposite his injured ankle. It was difficult to ignore the way his smalls were tented, but she averted her gaze as soon as her eyes brushed past his groin.

It sent a shiver of pleasure through her, just how hard he flexed against the fabric.

_ I barely touched him. _

“Can you turn on your side, facing me?” she asked.

Alistair did as he was asked, no words necessary. It took him a moment to shift on his side, to get comfortable. Eilwyn had moved so that his healing injury could remain untangled, resting upon his other leg, and she rolled to face him on her side as well. When they were both lying down, facing one another, their hands lying on the bedroll between them, Eilwyn let out a shaky breath.

“Lights or…?”

Alistair’s jaw clenched. He glanced down, then up to the ceiling where the magelights were bobbing about like drunk bumblebees.

“Lights,” he said, his voice husky.

A shiver of pleasure shocked through her spine at his tone, at how eager he sounded, how frightened.

_ This isn’t a sin, _ her mind repeated like a mantra. As if to reassure her.

There was an unbidden stab of guilt, only one, as if her spirit was refusing to just let her have this. As Alistair reached out to catch her fingers with his, Eilwyn heard the ghost of a voice at the back of her mind.

_ “You’re a mage! It’s a sin because of what you are!” _

An insult Cullen had thrown.

A truth she didn’t want to confront.

She screwed her eyes shut, and Alistair’s hands tightened over hers so featherlight that it was almost imperceptible.

“Hey,” he whispered, drawing her hand up so that he could kiss her knuckles. “Hey, hey.”

Eilwyn tried to reclaim the desire she’d felt before, the urge, the sweet agony of the touch of Alistair’s skin on hers. She tried to get back there, but couldn’t, the only thing on her mind suddenly the shame of just being her.

_ It wouldn’t matter if we were married or not. _

_ I’m a mage first. _

_ Right? _

“Eilwyn,” Alistair begged.

She opened her eyes, meeting his in the soft yellow light flickering like fireflies above them.

“We don’t have to do anything,” he said. As he spoke, he splayed her palm open with his thumb and began to kiss each and every one of her fingertips. “We could do nothing, or something,” he continued, “I’m just happy you’re here. By my side. Just being you.”

“I am, too,” Eilwyn answered.

Saying it aloud brought her back to herself.

No longer was she an apprentice, taking notes and imagining spells she would never be allowed to test. She didn’t have to hide her journal for fear of being seen as a dangerous mind, of being too willing to test limits of well-known recipes and conjurations. She was not a risk.

No longer was she confined to the stones of a tower, with rules about her body and her magic and her thoughts. She could cry freely, could stand up for herself, could threaten if she wanted! She had grown into a mage not as Wynne was, nor Morrigan; she was something new and entirely  _ her _ .

But more than those, more than anything else, Eilwyn realized that she was no longer afraid.

Well.

At least, not afraid of this.

Eilwyn rolled her hips forward and slid her hand to Alistair’s cheek, catching him in a kiss. He made a noise as she caught his lip with her teeth, and she kept a slow pace. Eyes closed, it was easier to let her hands wander. She let her fingers drift over Alistair’s shoulder, over the fabric of his tunic. He let out a tiny whimper, soft and delicate, and it drew a smile from her.

As she traced her fingers down his arm, she realized he was holding his arms stiffly at his side. As if he were giving her free reign, but assumed she wouldn’t want him to reciprocate. Eilwyn smiled more broadly as she drew his lower lip between her teeth in a playful nip, and then slowly brought his hand to rest on the dip of her waist.

“No spot is off limits,” she whispered. His breathing caught, but she added, “No pressure.”

Alistair chuckled dryly, but then his other hand, the one trapped between them, drifted up to catch her cheek in his palm. Eilwyn melted against him, against the shift in tone.

He kept it slow, as if sensing she didn’t want to rush, but his other hand fisted in the fabric of her robes to pull her closer. The tip of him pressed into her thigh, just a minute little press, and she noted he drew his hips back almost instinctively. He held her close, but didn’t force himself into contact with her.

Eilwyn mirrored him, reaching for his hip, and when she found it she was tempted to wriggle her fingers beneath where his tunic had ridden up. He’d asked for over the clothes, so she only debated it for a moment before smoothing the shirt down instead. She ran her palm over the flat planes of his stomach, his tummy harder than she’d expected it to be. She supposed it had been a while since summer, since he'd last walked around without a shirt in front of her. Intrigued, she began to prod at the different lines in his abdomen, and she felt him flex for her.

She moaned her appreciation, a little hum of approval, and Alistair gasped against her.

_ He likes that. _

_ Being wanted. _

_ Being appreciated. _

Eilwyn didn’t know what to do with that, but she knew she wanted to keep touching.

She ran her hand up his stomach to his chest, where she could feel his heart beating out fast and steady. Her body moved of her own volition, her ankle coming up to thread between his as their knees collided.

She expected a wince, but he didn’t react except to move his leg up so that she could tangle hers through both of his. As she moved, his palm slid lower, cupping her arse and gripping her tight.

It was Eilwyn’s turn to gasp, and she arched her chest into his as Alistair deepened the kiss. His tongue moved easily, never crowding her, only barely venturing close to find hers. She had expected the act of such kisses to feel invasive, or to choke you, but Alistair seemed to exercise a good level of restraint.

Aware of her lack of experience, Eilwyn copied him. When he opened his mouth against hers, she flicked her tongue just past his teeth, catching the length of his. Alistair made a noise, and she felt him thrust up against her hip.

“Sorry,” he murmured against her mouth.

“Don’t be,” she countered. “Can…” She worried that she was sweating, so warm was she in her full armor, but she put the thought out of her mind. “Can I touch you?”

“You are touching me.”

“No, Alistair,” Eilwyn groaned, and slid her hand down his chest, past his stomach, down to where she could feel the hard stab of his cock against her thigh. Before she touched him, however, she stopped. Her hand poised, her fingernails barely resting against the plane of his lower belly, she waited.

“You mean-”

She kissed him before he could say it, too embarrassed to hear it out loud, too desperate to have him confirm it. Alistair moaned into her mouth, and without replying, she felt his hand move from her thigh over to her wrist. Gently, smoothly, Alistair’s trembling fingers guided Eilwyn’s to where his erection was straining and twitching against the fabric of his smallclothes.

Eilwyn felt her hips move closer as a drill of pleasure ground into the apex of her thighs. She wasn’t sure if it was because she liked the act of touching him, or if it was the act of seeing how much he wanted her, but she felt like she was on the edge of something. Her mind was blank, her body running on instinct, her skin pink and her senses heightened. She could smell something different, something heady and musky and warm and  _ good _ , and she could taste the remnants of elfroot on Alistair’s lips, and she felt tingly and alive all over.

Alistair’s hand curved about his own cock, Eilwyn’s fingers caught beneath, and she thought she might die.

Mewling against his kiss, she gave him an experimental pump over the clothes.

“Easy,” he hissed, followed by a laugh when she jerked her hand back. “No, it’s okay, just, the fabric is rough and I’m very, very sensitive right now.”

“It was your choice to have the fabric on you in the first place,” Eilwyn whispered.

“Eila,” Alistair let out her name as a whisper, sounding as if he were praying. Whether it was for strength to refuse her or strength to give in to her, she didn’t know. And honestly, she didn’t care. Rather than pushing her luck, she traced down his length once more, gentler this time.

It felt stranger than she’d thought it would. She knew that men hardened, but had never seen an erection, except in pictures. It felt strangely alive, the way she could feel his skin and the flex of his muscles through the tented cloth, and it was that thought that made her giggle. Alistair broke their kiss. He dragged his lips down her cheek, over to the sensitive crook where her neck met her shoulder. As he kissed her there, she heard him catching his breath, and the noise excited her even more.

She curved her fingers fully about his shaft, unable to get a good grip because of the way the fabric pulled and tightened. She felt his own hands at the back of her hand, at his knuckles, almost like Alistair couldn’t believe it was her fingers there.

“When you thought about the tree,” Eilwyn breathed against his ear. “Did you touch yourself?”

Alistair’s hand caught her wrist, forcing her to stop her explorations. He was breathing heavily against her shoulder, and for a split second she worried she’d hurt him, or embarrassed him. She was about to ask if he wanted to stop when he moved his hand to her stomach.

“Eila,” he breathed, pulling back to look her in the eye. His face was flushed deeply, his eyes bright. She smiled at him in the dim bobbing light of the magelights she’d cast, but he didn’t smile back.

“Alistair?”

“Yes,” he whispered. She opened her mouth to ask what was wrong, but he continued, “I touched myself.”

It felt like a confession. Like a thing that one said before praying, like a desperate sharing of secrets but without the hidden weight of guilt.

"I thought about how soft your skin was," he whispered weakly, his voice sounding strained and yet somehow filled with want, "and I thought about how you let me lick at my fingers and touch you  _there_ , and I-"

Alistair dissolved into a trembling little moan, and she felt him thrust up towards her hand. Eilwyn answered with a noise of her own, surprise mixing with a need she didn't know how to meet.

“I dreamed about you,” she answered, and more fear lifted.

_ Honesty. _

_ Is that the antidote to worrying, in this instance? _

"Tell me," Alistair begged. "Please."

_ Apparently so. _

“I dreamed about you in the waterfall,” Eilwyn continued, blushing fiercely but not once stammering. “You were shirtless and you held me against you, and I could kiss your shoulders-”

“Maker’s breath,” Alistair moaned.

“-and I woke up like this,” Eilwyn panted.

“Like what?”

“Touch me and see,” she whispered, moving his hand down lower on her belly.

Alistair’s mouth fell open, and she gave a hopeless whimper.

“Please, you’ll see what I mean if you-”

Alistair needed no more encouragement from her. His hand dipped down to begin gathering her skirts about her waist, the heavy mail-inlay of her armored robes catching once or twice about her leggings. They both worked to expose her to the night air, Eilwyn’s hands on her legging laces while Alistair’s drew up her skirts to her waist.

When her laces were undone, Alistair’s hand found hers, and there was a shock of fear.

_ What if this is disgusting to him? _

_ What if this isn’t the same as how he wants me? _

_ What if he touches me, and he doesn’t like how wet I am, or he thinks it feels like a snail, or that it smells odd, or that he wants to wash his hands- _

Alistair smiled at her, his eyes gleaming with tenderness. He moved close to kiss her, pressing chaste pecks to her cheeks, to the corner of her mouth. As he did, he whispered words to her, words that unclenched the hand she’d unknowingly balled into a fist at her robes.

“I love you,” he whispered. “My dear friend, my sweet girl, my leader, I love you.”

Eilwyn closed her eyes, her core relaxing. She hadn’t realized she’d tensed it to begin with. Her passion renewed, that hurdle overcome, Eilwyn brought Alistair’s fingers to the apex of her thighs.

He moved as if he wanted to rub over the outside of her leggings merely to gauge the shape of her, his knuckles catching at the leather and drawing gently over her cleft. The touch was slight, but perfectly aligned through some happy accident on the most sensitive of places. It sent glimmers of pleasure flitting through her veins, all the way from her thighs down to her toes, then back up again. Eilwyn let out a cry, strangled and guttural, and Alistair flinched back.

“Pain?”

“No,” she mewled.

“Oh? You like that, then?”

She nodded, unable to say it aloud.

“Then I like it, too,” was all he said in reply.

Before she could breathe, his lips were back to distracting her, distracting them both, as he repeated the little caress down between her thighs. Eilwyn held back her noise with difficulty, having anticipated it this time, and let the sensation wash over her from deep within her pelvis.

She’d pressed herself before, put exquisite and delicate pressure on the sensitive, swollen parts of herself before, but nothing felt quite like this. This was loss of control, it was sweetness combined with an exciting humiliation that Eilwyn worried had the potential to become addictive. Unhurried, Alistair drew his knuckles down the line of her once more, and Eilwyn felt her core beginning to tense.

“You have to… I…”

“You know,” Alistair whispered against her, his voice low and full of promise. “Your smalls are considered clothing as well.”

Eilwyn panted against him, practically writhing in his palm as he drew his hand up and down her folds overtop of the leggings.

“I could just…”

Before he explained himself, Alistair’s fingers wriggled beneath where she had unlaced her pants for him, and Eilwyn arched up into his palm without thinking.

“Maker’s breath, you’re soaked through them,” he whispered, sounding amazed.

“I’m sorry,” Eilwyn whispered automatically.

“No, don’t say that,” Alistair insisted, his hand stilling against her. He was cupping the entirety of her cleft, his fingers sliding back and forth in her slick as if it was the most natural thing in the world, and Eilwyn thought she might die of embarrassment and need. “Never apologize for that,” he finished.

“But it’s-”

“A sign of how excited you are.”

Eilwyn shut her eyes tight and nodded, afraid of what admitting that might lead to.

“It feels good,” she cried breathlessly. “What you’re doing feels so good.”

“Do you ever touch yourself, Eila?” he whispered against her cheek.

“Not… much,” she answered, struggling against the rising worry and shame intermingling with the excitement and lust driving her hips forward into his immobile palm.

“Do you know what feels good to you?”

She nodded.

“Um, that's... that's good then, ah,” Alistair cleared his throat, and she had the sudden happy revelation that he was just as nervous as she was. She felt his straining cock twitch against her thigh, so much more connection now that the layers of clothing were falling away between the two of them.

“You should…” Eilwyn grit her teeth, then before her bravery left her, she just blurted what she wanted aloud. “You should let me show you what feels best. What we do in my dreams.”

Alistair’s cock flexed against her thigh, practically begging to be freed from its textile prison, and Eilwyn made a noise without meaning to. Softly, she heard Alistair answer her just before he caught her lips once more in a kiss.

“Yes… please show me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hate to stop at a cliffhanger, but bear with me guys! I'm still on vacation, only a week til I'm back in Japan, so I'm doing my best to get updates out intermittently at least. This is a bigger one, so hopefully it tides you over before the next, but woof. These two. Are responsive.
> 
> Got this one written out quick in interims between wi-fi, so if there are mistakes please let me know! I spared it a split second glance to edit through spelling, but otherwise this is raw as all get out ⁄(⁄ ⁄•⁄ω⁄•⁄ ⁄)⁄ ehehehe


	30. Release

_ He’s touching me. _

_ Alistair’s palm is against my… and his fingers are… _

Eilwyn whimpered, her hand at Alistair’s wrist as they both lay breathing heavily in the dimly lit tent. She was working her way up to showing him what she liked, and she had been brave enough to ask if she could show him.

Because Maker take her, she knew what she wanted, even if it was going to kill her to have to ask for it.

She wanted to grind on his palm. To feel his fingertips part her flesh and tease her.

She wasn't sure if she could even finish that way, because when she was by herself, she always used something soft to move against. Never her own fingers, really. But her mind was aflicker with desire to try, to explore, to see what felt certain ways. She wanted to have him touch at her opening, to press his finger into her, just to see how it felt with a digit bigger than her own.

But even thinking that, not even saying it aloud or even acting silently upon it, had Eilwyn sinking her head to Alistair’s shoulder in a blushing, tense heap.

To his credit, he was quiet while he waited.

If he'd spoken, urged her forward, she was positive she'd lose her nerve and tell him she wanted to wait, that she wasn't certain enough to continue. But he didn't say a word, and so she could let her thoughts bounce about in her mind like the rowdy kittens they were, and try to sort it all out on her own terms.

Several heartbeats passed, to the point that Eilwyn wasn’t sure she even wanted to look at him anymore. She didn't want to read his expression and see impatience written there, or judgmental amusement.

_ He wouldn’t be impatient with you. _

_ He’s just as new at this. _

Eilwyn scrunched her eyes up tighter as her face burned.

_ Yes, but what if guys just know what to expect? _

_ He must have had Wardens talk around him. _

“M-maybe,” she bit out against his shoulder, and she felt Alistair adjust so that his cheek was resting against her temple.

As he moved, his fingers accidentally dragged along the outer edge of her lips. Eilwyn bit back a cry, reflexively clamping her legs together.

“Sorry-”

“No, it's me, I'm sorry," she whispered in a rush.

"We," Alistair inhaled long and slow, then let it out before he spoke again. "We've got to relax."

Eilwyn frowned.

"This is supposed to be fun, right?" Alistair breathed. It was strange, but he sounded almost frightened. His tone was what helped Eilwyn find her courage again, because she knew that she could do this. She could lead him, could tell him what to do, and he would look up at her grateful and reassured.

“Right. Sor-” Eilwyn pressed her lips together and tried to find her previous thought. “Maybe you should just, ah… touch me… however you think I should be touched?”

It was a pitiful request, mumbled into the cotton of the tunic at his shoulder, and she could tell by his soft inhale that he was surprised. She lifted the hand caught between them, the one resting on his chest, and slid it to rest against the pulse in his neck.

“You don’t want to show me anymore?” he asked.

He sounded almost hurt.

“No! No, no, it's not that at all, love,” Eilwyn pulled back so that she could meet his gaze in the fading magelights, so that he could see better what she was trying to communicate to him.

_ I don’t want you to see me as vulgar. _

_ I don't want you to think I'm debauched for asking you this out loud. _

“I am…” she swallowed hard and amended, “Do you ever just feel like you’re going to do something silly? Like you’re going to be laughed at?”

Alistair burst into a grin.

“All the time.”

Eilwyn rolled her eyes playfully and then met his gaze once more.

“Seriously,” Alistair gently made to pull his hand free from her leggings, but she stopped him with a soft press to his wrist again. He smiled, confusion written plainly on his face even through the levity, and left it where it was. “What’s so bad about making people laugh?” he asked.

“There’s a difference between laughing from happiness,” Eilwyn mumbled, “and being laughed at in judgement.”

“Ah."

Alistair nodded and they fell silent for a moment.

He looked as if he was mulling over something, and Eilwyn wished she knew how to rekindle the bravery she’d felt just a moment ago. She’d said everything right, she thought! Everything was going where it needed to go, and his hands were-

“I’m not going to make fun of you,” Alistair said softly.

“Wh… what do you mean?” Eilwyn tilted her head, squinting in the dark at him.

“I know I tease you and joke with you all the time about little things,” he shrugged lightly with one shoulder, the one not resting on the pile of furs beneath him. “But this isn’t something I’d tease you about. I just… felt like you should know. I won't make fun of you.”

Eilwyn swallowed once more, the fire rekindling within her veins.

“What if I do something really stupid?” she pressed.

"Like what?"

"I don't know," she sighed. "Like, what if I want you to dance around and cluck like a chicken before you touch me?"

“Well, I mean,” Alistair gave a nervous giggle, “you'd have to give me a free pass on that one."

"Alistair!"

"Eila!" he riposted. "I hope you’d laugh _with_ me if we did something funny while we’re doing… this… kind of thing.”

She grimaced.

“Like I said, it's supposed to be fun, right?" Alistair let out a nervous breath. "And I imagine we’re both going to do ridiculous things together no matter what, simply because it's you and me.”

"Not helping," she muttered.

"You and I," he said in a low, sultry voice, "are incredibly beautiful, ridiculous, and clumsy people."

She scoffed, but he continued.

"I give you permission to laugh your arse off when I do something stupid, if you do the same for me. Even if we're both in the heat of the moment. Perhaps _especially_ if we're in the heat of the moment."

Eilwyn gave him a smile, at last.

“Without judgement?” she finished for him, and he nodded.

“Exactly.”

He looked like he was about to say more, but Eilwyn cleared her throat and his words stopped at his lips. He whispered out a mumble, cleared his throat, and then gave a small huff of a breath.

“I, ah,” Alistair bit his lip. “I could feel you flex a bit, when you did that. Down there.”

“Could you?” Eilwyn chirped, not sure if that was interesting or embarrassing.

Alistair seemed not to know either, because he just shrugged with his one shoulder and licked his lower lip.

“I think so,” he said quietly. “Can you tell me how to move, though? To do… to do what you like?”

Eilwyn blinked sharply, and it hit her that Alistair was practically begging. He’d kept his hand still because she’d asked him to, had expressed concern when she seemed not to be able to guide him to her pleasure. Was he waiting on her because he was being a gentleman, or because the thought of forging forward in this was too terrifying for him to willingly make the first move?

The idea of teaching him how to touch her, of Alistair studying her body, made Eilwyn shiver. She rolled her hips gently forward before she could think too strictly on it, before she could second guess herself once more. Alistair kept his hand where she’d positioned it, and the effect was immediate.

Holding his hand in place with two fingers against the pulse in his wrist, Eilwyn began to grind her sensitive nub back and forth against his palm. She averted her gaze down at the collar of his tunic, too humiliated to meet his eyes but too overcome with need to stop moving. With every gradual circle she made with her hips, Alistair’s breathing came a bit sharper, a bit quicker. She could feel him once more pressing hard and insistent against her lower belly, underneath of where his hand connected with her cleft. She hadn't taken note of it, but he must have softened a bit when she hesitated.

But now he was hard once more, eager, willing, and so very close to her hand.

Exhilarated by the combination of fear and desire, Eilwyn slid her fingers from his wrist over to touch at the tip of Alistair’s cock.

It jumped, almost as if it had a life of its own, and Alistair gave a tiny hiss through his teeth.

"Pain?" she whispered.

"No," he groaned back to her. "Not at all."

_ Is it a surprise reflex? _

_ When I touch the tip of him, he flexes it towards his belly. _

_ Is he doing it on purpose, or is it mindless? _

Eilwyn wanted to know. She ran her fingertips across the head of him, wisp-like because of the smalls separating them, and felt it jump once more. Enraptured, she tested this a second time, and then a third, and just as she was about to press harder to see what response that elicited, Alistair slid his fingers up as if he meant to pull his hand from her leggings.

She had no time to react, to tell him not to stop, before a jolt of sensitivity shot through her pelvis. It was stark in comparison to the steady pressure she normally liked, and then it was gone.

Glancing up in surprise, she found Alistair was staring at the ceiling of the tent and mumbling something as he touched her. His fingertips were dancing across the apex of her folds, as if he were searching for her clit through her smalls. He had found it the first time, he must have, but the subsequent presses were too far to the right or to the left, and her pubic bone didn’t really give her the same thrill.

She smiled, slipping the hand at his neck up so that it could rest on his cheek.

“What are you doing to me?” Eilwyn whispered.

“I’m, um,” Alistair cleared his throat and his fingers ceased their fumblings. “I read somewhere that you… I mean, not  _ just  _ you, but women in general… maybe not all women, even, but most have some… quite pleasurable places. Down there,” he finished, just as his eyes flicked down to look at Eilwyn briefly.

As soon as their eyes connected, she saw how embarrassed he was. The heat from his cheek was evidence enough, but even in the soft yellow of the magelights she’d thrown up to the ceiling of the tent, she could see Alistair’s mouth was quirked in puzzlement and his eyebrows were drawn in concentration. He looked confused and eager and scared, his pupils blown wide in the dark.

“You're not wrong," she said softly. "But it can be difficult through clothing."

Alistair swallowed so hard she could hear it, and it steeled her as she continued.

"Do you want me to show you how to find it?”

Eilwyn had to stifle a giggle of anxiety at saying such a dirty thing out loud, lest it make him feel judged.

_ I just said I didn’t want to be laughed at right? _

_ What’s with my body! _

_ Do something right, for once, body! _

Ignoring the back and forth in her own mind, Eilwyn lifted her knee so that it grazed gently upon Alistair’s thigh. Her leg carefully positioned so that she would not knock his injury, this opened her up more easily to him in the awkward, tangled position they found themselves in on the tent floor.

“Okay,” Alistair whispered, his breath lightly fogging before her in the chill of the tent. “Yes, show me."

"Touch like you were, for starters."

"I would but, it’s a bit of a strange angle. I can’t quite…” he let out a sigh, another cloud forming momentarily between them.

_ I hadn’t even noticed it had gotten so cold. _

Before she lost her nerve, Eilwyn smiled up at her fellow Warden. Alistair returned the expression, seemingly relieved, until she hooked her thumbs in the tops of her leggings and began to shimmy out of them.

“Eilwyn, wh- hold on, what are you-”

“I’ll leave my smalls on, but the leggings make it difficult,” she answered, lifting up in a crunch to pull the leather about her knees. It was undignified, and somehow worse than being completely exposed, so she pushed the leggings down about her ankles and kicked them off at the foot of the tent.

“Aren’t you cold?” Alistair murmured, but his hand had already found her bare thigh as if magnetically drawn to it. “Oh, Maker’s breath, your skin.”

“I’m a little chilly, yeah,” Eilwyn shuddered.

"No, not that. I mean," he laughed ruefully, "yes that, but I meant... it feels divine. To touch you, like I've wanted to."

She could only moan in response, the little note of her pleasure catching just behind her teeth.

As Alistair drew his hand up and down over her leg in quiet reverence, as she brought her knee up once more to rest on his hip and open herself to his explorations, she felt him inadvertently smearing her own juices along the skin of her thigh.

Closing her eyes, she made a mental note to examine why the shame of that act felt so delicious to her in this moment.

Before she could articulate anything more than a pleased little growl at his touch, Alistair had pulled a blanket from behind him so that it covered their legs. It smelled slightly of elfroot and sweat, but the mingling scents of their desires was beginning to overpower it.

_ That’s… us. _

_ That smell is us? _

_ Maybe just me? _

Eilwyn bit her lip, and tried not to dwell on it.

“Here, move your hand down there again,” she whispered, her voice a bit more tense than she’d thought it would be. Alistair responded to the order, however, and slid his fingers back to hesitantly cup her sex.

Eilwyn hissed, her inhale involuntary as she felt herself clench, and she wondered if Alistair’s twitching had been for the same reason.

_ I’m not used to such a sensation. _

_ It’s completely different with someone else. _

“Now what?” he murmured, and both he and Eilwyn snuggled closer to one another at the same time. They both let out nervous laughter simultaneously, and she was further reassured that she wasn’t alone in this.

“I, um…” she swallowed hard, then tried again. “You could use your thumb, if you wanted.”

Before Alistair could ask what for, Eilwyn closed her eyes and slid her hand down her own belly. Using her fingers splayed from up above where she knew her most sensitive hood to start, she began to part her lips beneath her smalls.

Alistair’s hand moved to accommodate the shared space, and he slid his fingers lower along the length of her in order to place his thumb next to her fingertips.

Eilwyn was at a loss. The pleasure of touching even the peripheral of her most personal of places was enough to send shivers up and down her legs. She had no idea a lady could even  _ be _ this wet! Her slick was soaked not only through her smalls but had dribbled down between her thighs.

Her lips parting as a moan escaped her, Eilwyn felt Alistair gently begin to tap at her with his thumb.

She had to bite back a laugh.

“Try-” she leaned forward so that she could whisper against his neck, and so that he wouldn’t catch her smiling in the darkening tent. “Do you feel the, um… the button?”

_ The  _ _ button _ _? _

_ Andraste preserve me I sound like an idiot. _

_ I know the name for it! _

_ I just... can't say it! _

“I think I do,” Alistair muttered, sounding so concentrated that it made her heart ache. “It’s this here, right?”

He pressed his thumb continuously against her pearl of flesh, and Eilwyn gave a squeak of encouragement.

“Yes. Yes, that’s- ooh.”

Alistair chuckled darkly at her noise, and withdrew his thumb perversely. She scrunched her eyes tighter shut in order to concentrate, and tried not to sigh at the loss of his touch.

“Try flicking back and forth on it.”

“Oh. Really?"

"Yes."

"Like...  like this, you mean?”

Alistair gave a quick up-and-down motion, and Eilwyn reflexively jerked her hips backwards a bit at the sharp sensation. His nail or something had caught on the underside of her clit, the pain exquisite and unwelcome. She'd not expected it, which made it even more shocking.

“Sorry,” he whispered, “sorry, sorry. No good?”

“It's okay, it's fine. It’s just sensitive,” she answered, and they moved back together just as close as before.

Alistair seemed hesitant, now, in a way he hadn't been before. As if he worried he was going to damage her, or do something wrong. His stiffness was apparent in the wooden way he held her, his breathing shallow and even as if he was trying to control it deliberately.

_ This is supposed to be fun, right? _

Eilwyn paused, trying to think for a minute, and then brought her fingers to Alistair’s cheek.

“Copy me, okay?” she begged, and before Alistair had a chance to ask what she meant, she pulled his face to hers.

He moaned into the kiss, and she felt his hips rut against hers in a long, slow drag. Hesitantly, wondering if he would understand, Eilwyn flicked the tip of her tongue against his lower lip.

Alistair tried to catch it automatically with his, tried to deepen the kiss as they had done before, but Eilwyn broke away.

“Copy me,” she whispered, catching his eyes through the heavy frame of her lashes.

Just as she said it, the tent went dark, her magelights flickering out. Emboldened by the blindness she felt, by the knowledge that touch was their main point of reference from now on, Eilwyn kissed Alistair once more.

This time, when she flicked her tongue across his lower lip, she flicked it back and forth, drawing a thin line in a gentle caress over his mouth.

Alistair’s breathing was heavy, his lips trembling, but he caught on. Hesitantly, or perhaps deliberately gentle, he flicked his thumb across her clit at the same pace as her tongue flicked along his lower lip.

“That’s good,” she whispered into his mouth, her words lost on his soft moan. “So good.”

She wanted to quicken the pace, to hurry him up so that she could crest in his arms, but was overrun by the need to make this last. The kiss progressed to brushes of mouth against mouth, but every now and again Eilwyn would pause and lightly trace the tempo she wanted into his lower lip. Alistair would respond by matching her, stroke for stroke, his thumb moving smoothly overtop of her smalls.

She drew it out, denying herself, edging slowly closer and closer, and Alistair’s patience was unmatched. Not once did he try to go faster than her tongue, and when she stopped licking at him and kissed him fully, he did not quicken on his own. He kept a studious tempo at her most sensitive place, arousal and nerves and elfroot permeating the air around them as she finally drew his tongue deep in to dance with her own, her body aflame and her mind foggy with arousal.

As his thumb roved over her, she felt his fingers splayed along where the curve of her arse barely began. A thought occurred to her, and in the mindless haze of inexplicable pleasure, Eilwyn acted before she could think.

Switching her hand so that it was no longer in front, no longer parting her lips for his thumb, she moved around to where his fingers lay immobile against the curve of her buttocks nearest to her inner thigh. Drawing his tongue into her mouth, feeling the scrape of his teeth as he scrambled to kiss her with an ardor that matched her own, Eilwyn curved his middle and ring finger inward so that he was pressing against her opening through her smallclothes.

“Eilwyn-” he gasped, his voice desperate and shaky as she curved her body up against his.

“Please,” she whispered back, not sure what she was begging for, not sure what she was even doing. “Over the clothes, right?”

“Maker’s breath, this will be the death of me,” Alistair let out, but instead of pulling away as she expected, he adjusted roughly against her.

In an instant, his arm was beneath her neck, cradling her to his chest. His other hand, the one she was guiding into lewd acts between her thighs, left her folds for but a brief instant. It was only so that he could yank her leg even further up his thigh, to where she was straddling him with one leg about his waist. Eilwyn let out a pleased little gasp of, “yes,” but he didn’t seem to be paying attention.

With one hand clutching her against him, the other moved so that he had a better angle of access to her. Instead of his arm being beneath her leg, now his arm was overtop her thigh, and he found her with his thumb once more.

She cried out at the pleasure, making sure to swallow her noises as much as she could lest her companions come by to check what was wrong, and she felt Alistair’s hand fist tighter in her braid as she did so.

“I want to make you feel as good as possible,” he whispered roughly, his stubbled cheek flush against her temple. “Tell me what to do.”

Eilwyn opened her mouth to do so, but never got the chance. Alistair’s middle finger began to work at her opening, and with the slightest press he slide one knuckle easily inside of her.

The fabric was a strange sensation within the warmth of her body, as was the diligent flicking of her clit as he penetrated her. It was depraved, but she was so wet that it almost didn't matter. The thin piece of fabric separating his skin from her body felt like it was as much a part of her as anything else, and at the thought Eilwyn felt herself clench about Alistair’s knuckle.

“Maker’s breath,” he cursed again, and he began to kiss at her temple as he slide his middle finger in and out of her again and again, unhurried and slow and agonizingly tender.

The fabric prevented him from getting very far inside of her, both a blessing and a curse, and Eilwyn marveled at the sensation as she tried to contain her moaning. Every breath she let out was strained and rough and fast, and she realized belatedly that she was clutching at Alistair’s shirt, pulling him, pushing him, trashing in his arms as he played in the wet of her.

“Faster,” she whispered.

He responded by going faster, indeed, but also harder, and she corrected him more loudly than she meant to.

“Gentle!”

“Sorry,” he murmured, and he gave a hoarse laugh. “It’s harder than it looks.”

As if to illustrate the attempt at a joke, or perhaps in just a weird sense of timing, Alistair’s hips dragged languidly against Eilwyn’s. From this angle, the way Alistair's hand was under her leg instead of over, his cock joined his thumb in pressing against the hood of her clit. She could feel how hard he was, and he seemed even bigger now, if that was possible.

_ I only need a knuckle… _

_ How do women fit an entire  _ _ thing _ _ inside of them, an entire thing this big! _

_ Or bigger! _

_ And they still feel good! _

_ I wonder... _

_ Would Alistair feel good, inside of me? _

The image of Alistair hooking his finger into her smalls, pulling the slip of soaked fabric aside, and sliding into her was unbidden and extremely graphic. So suddenly did she imagine it, and so clearly, that when his knuckle once again slid within her and accidentally curved, she thought she might die.

Instead of clearing her mind, she leaned into the dirty thoughts. Eilwyn shuddered at the idea of watching him thrust against her, at the image of him holding himself in one palm and asking her to touch it. She wondered what he would sound like when he found his own pleasure nestled in the sweet nectar between her thighs.

It was all over. Alistair’s fingers working her, his imaginary release, it was all too much and Eilwyn shattered against him.

She let out a low, guttural moan, one that surprised her and scared her, but she couldn’t think to shush herself. She felt Alistair holding her into his shoulder, and without thinking she bit down on his flesh and fabric there and tried to ride the wave of immense pleasure shaking at her legs and her pelvis and her core as long as it would let her.

Wave after glimmering wave washed up and along her body, her everything clenching and unclenching in the throes of it. She could hear noises spilling from her throat that sounded like thunderous cries even though she hoped the tent would muffle most if not all of her moaning.

When it was over, she was left with an almost painful sensitivity, but Alistair didn’t stop. It was like he couldn't tell what she'd gone through, like he didn't know to slow down or pull away once she crested. She had to reach down and snatch his hand away from her, her breathing coming ragged and deep as she let her limbs collapse once more onto his body.

“What’s wrong, why did you-”

“That,” Eilwyn gasped, rolling onto her back as she pushed the blankets away from her torso, “that was…”

They were silent, together, except for their mutual belabored breathing, until Alistair let out a slow, quiet noise.

“Oh.”

She wanted to laugh. She wanted to hold him and tell him she’d never felt really  _ that way _ when she touched herself before, it was powerful in a completely different way to come on her own.

But outside she could hear footsteps, and McWhistle gave a salutatory bark, and it sent the pair of them scrambling to separate.

Eilwyn found her leggings and began to try to pull them up, only realizing they were backwards when she went to find the lacings to tie up. She could hear voices, and so she didn’t even bother with switching them right way around. She wriggled into them as best she could, figuring she could tend to it later.

After whoever this was went away.

Alistair was pulling blankets across his lap, piling so many on that he accidentally knocking into the knee of his injured leg as he did so. She watched as his face twisted in a grimace of pain, and she made to go help him even as he motioned for her to move back.

“Eilwyn?” Wynne called out, and Eilwyn could hear McWhistle chomping on something.

_ Oh, she knew to bring a biscuit. _

_ Clever woman. _

“I, ah, y-yes,” Eilwyn called back, wincing as Alistair reached over to begin smoothing out her braid for her. He did so roughly, just as he had done at the tower Circle when he was pinning her hair away from her face in the midst of everything, and her heart was overcome with adoration.

Strange, seeing as she needed to focus on looking presentable, lest they be found out.

He finally finished pushing her hair back behind her ears, and assuming it was successful. It wasn't like he could see her in the dark, she assumed he'd only started to fix her hair because he knew he'd been tugging on it as she came undone in his arms. Eilwyn busied herself trying to pull her skirts down about her legs as she remade the blankets beside Alistair, covering the warm wet spot she’d left on his makeshift bed.

Her cheeks burned.

_ I… just did that. _

“What is it?” she asked, her voice squeaky and nervous.

“Did I wake you, dear?” Wynne asked, and Eilwyn could hear her trying to approach the tent flap. She made a noise, an  _ oof _ , and McWhistle gave a happy yip. “I don’t have anymore, you little brute,” Wynne said good-naturedly.

“I, no,” Eilwyn started to say, but then Alistair nodded emphatically in the dark.

“Yes, yes,” he whispered, and then flopped back onto the pile. Before Eilwyn could protest, he made a snuffly snoring noise.

“I mean, yes, I was asleep just now,” Eilwyn corrected, covering her mouth with one hand to stifle laughter. “Alistair’s still out cold.”

As if to prove it, he gave a grunting snore.

Outside the tent was silent, and Eilwyn swatted at Alistair’s chest as she struggled to swallow back her mirth.

“Oh.”

It was only a single syllable, but the way it was drawn out clearly illustrated the suspicion therein.

Or perhaps the amusement.

“Well, don’t let me disturb you,” Wynne continued. “I had thought you might take over watch for me, but I can ask Leliana-”

“No,” Eilwyn crawled over to the tent flap, then peeked out into the cold moonlight. “No, I can do it.”

Wynne was standing a little ways off with McWhistle, and the moon was high in the sky. Eilwyn practically felt the steam rolling off of her face, and she pulled the tent flap tight about her neck, hoping that whatever smells still lingered would stay within the confines of the fabric for just a moment longer. She was still blushing, hard, but the cold of the night and the tiny falling snowflakes hitting her cheeks helped immensely to dispel that. Eilwyn closed her eyes and breathed in deep the smell of loamy earth, chilled air, and dry bark about her.

“You look very sleep-mussed,” Wynne said, her arms crossed loosely before her. “Are you sure you don’t want to go back to bed?”

Her hand still in the dark of the tent, Eilwyn felt Alistair take her fingers and give them a little squeeze. He released her, then, and she took it as a sign that they were finished.

She couldn’t tell why that made her sad, but it did. As if the moment was lost, now, and she wouldn’t get a chance to give him back all of the pleasure she’d just taken from him. But the timing wasn't right, she could definitely read that in the air now, and so she straightened her shoulders.

“No,” she looked up and smiled at Wynne in the dark. “It’s okay. Fresh air might do me some good, actually. This has been a very…” Eilwyn paused, then laughed. “A very intense night.”

“I can imagine you’re stressed,” Wynne said carefully. “Do you need me to check on Alistair in your stead?”

“No! No,” Eilwyn burst out, laughing in embarrassment and then immediately trying to cover it by pretending it was a cough.

The effect was ridiculous, even to her own ears, and she could see Wynne smirk slightly in the dark.

“I’ll, ah,” Eilwyn nodded to the low embers of the fire near camp. “I’ll be along shortly. You go to bed.”

“Alright, child,” Wynne said, and honestly Eilwyn expected something more.

A hint of the secret Wynne probably had sussed out in the few seconds of conversation just now, or maybe some judgement, or unsolicited advice on what protections to use-

_ Maker take me if she tries to talk contraception with me, I might spontaneously combust. _

_ Is... we wouldn't need that. _

_ No. That's too quick. We're not there yet. _

_... are we? _

But Wynne had nothing to weigh in with, at least not at the moment. As Eilwyn mulled back and forth what exactly this physical act meant in the grand scheme of things, the senior enchantress merely moved back to her own tent, crunching lightly through the dry leaves lining the base of the many, many skeletal saplings surrounding them.

When she was far off enough, Eilwyn turned back into the tent, her mind still reeling from it all.

"Is she gone?" Alistair asked.

"Yes," Eilwyn breathed. She paused, unsure of how to say anything, unsure of what she should say.

Was 'thank you' too trite? Was she supposed to promise more? Or give critique?

Instead of any of those options, Eilwyn chose the easiest.

“It’s alright if I leave to take watch? Just for a couple hours?”

“I never want you to go,” Alistair murmured with a chuckle. “But yes. Of course.”

“You don’t want me to… you know...”

Eilwyn reached out and touched a tentative hand to where she thought his thigh was, seeing as she was trying to be suggestive. She couldn’t tell where she was touching, however, since he’d piled so many blankets on top of himself in anticipation of a guest arriving.

Alistair laughed and caught her hand. He brought it to his lips, kissing every knuckle.

“I think we should wait on reciprocation,” he whispered.

Eilwyn frowned, trying not to feel a twinge of hurt at that.

As if he could anticipate her reaction, Alistair pressed her hand to his cheek.

“I don’t know if I could keep quiet like you.” He turned and kissed her palm. “I am very impressed with your self control, magelet.”

Alistair trailed his lips up her index finger, and she let her hand rest against the beautiful planes of his face as he nibbled at it.

"I'm so happy it pleased you, ser," she whispered, and the thrill of it seemed to rekindle something in her belly.

_Maker forgive me._

_This appetite he's awakened in me... it's...._

"Did you know that your fingers got really cold when you orgasmed?" he breathed, so quiet that she almost didn't quite catch that he'd said anything in the first place. "There's frost on your fingernails."

Eilwyn gave a little laugh, embarrassment at the way he talked so frankly of it making her cheeks burn bright once more. She felt too warm, overstimulated, still sensitive and still wet and still buzzing with electric excitement from the new experience.

She needed to process it.

“I’ll be back after my watch,” she whispered, and she tried to make the underlying desire in her voice unmistakable. "Try to rest."

Before she could wait and see if the full meaning of her promise had fallen upon her love, she pulled back the tent flap and stood on shaky legs just outside of it.

Taking a deep breath of cold air to brace herself, Eilwyn made her way to the fire, and walking a bit bowlegged in order to keep her untied, unkempt leggings from falling from her hips as she did so.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello I'm still alive! Haha. I got moved in and was immediately thrown into work, you know how it is. Hopefully you know by now that me going dark doesn't mean I'll leave you hanging <3
> 
> There's a fun little easter egg in this chapter for those of you who've read my FenHawke fic... I'll give you a hint in the comments if you don't see it yourself haha (〃￣ω￣〃)ゞ
> 
> I tried to recall how awkward and exciting that first little foray can be, and I definitely think it's high time Alistair's left a bit tense while Eilwyn gets to breathe easy, don't you?
> 
> Fun tidbit: this chapter's vulgar name in my drive folder was "fumbling, frottage, and finishes" because I like alliteration and it was too perfect NOT to have. However, I felt like it didn't accurately portray much of the chapter haha, so I share it here instead. Ridiculous and good, no? (⺣◡⺣)♡*
> 
> More soon, I promise!


	31. Dignity And Devotion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I liiiive ₍₍ (ง ˙ω˙)ว ⁾⁾
> 
> This is incredibly long, and incredibly full of intimate, explicit adult stuff. You all deserve it. Not only for your patience with my writing and updating schedule, but for every single lovely comment or kudos. Enjoy!! 乁( ˙ ω˙乁)

It took several days to get further into the Brecilian, days with short nights and not much time to rest. The time seemed to progress in skips and jumps, a day turning to two turning to three with barely any conversation between everyone. If they weren’t scouting or walking, they were researching during breaks or replenishing supplies while they could.

Eilwyn hadn’t known what to expect the morning after… that had happened. She’d gone back to Alistair’s tent and found him deeply asleep, and she’d snuggled down into the blankets that had smelled embarrassingly of her arousal, and they had slept well.

But since then, they hadn’t had a moment alone. When she glanced over the map at him, his lips would part as if he was surprised, and he would give her a funny little smile. As if he was merely happy she was there. When they had to set up camp, he always set about pitching the tents as she set her wards, and when she saw him bent over with canvas in his hands, she had the strangest urge to give him a nudge in the rump. Just to see what he would do in retaliation.

At night, when she was supposed to be sleeping to regain her strength, she would stare up at the tent ceiling and listen to his snores and wonder if he’d liked their little moment in the emergency tent as much as she had.

When they finally made camp at the edge of a waterfall, the cold had viciously set in. Irregular snow flurries gathered at the running water’s bank, the sound of the droplets crashing sending all of the party huddled further into their tents and furs, and the air had a nefarious bite to it that had most of the party dressed in layers.

Sten seemed immune to the cold, but Eilwyn insisted that even he wear at least two cloaks tonight.

“Why,” he intoned, and if she didn’t know him better, she wouldn’t have even thought it was a question. Instead, she gave him a supplicant pout.

“Isn’t Seheron warm?”

His eyes narrowed. She always felt so short when he looked down the bridge of his nose at her like that, but then he sighed.

“What of it?”

“I want you to be comfortable.”

He grunted, but obliged her by leaning forward in order to allow her to drape the fabric over his armored shoulders. As he straightened his shoulders and stood at his full height, even though he scowled she thought Sten looked happier when warmer.

“Eilwyn!” Morrigan called, opening her grimoire and waving her over. “Reread this after me.”

“Hmm?”

She rolled her eyes, as if asking once was even beyond what she’d wanted to be doing, but then she strode over to the waterfront and held up a scrap of notes.

“Werewolves. Weaknesses. T’was you who asked me to research such things, was it not?”

“Y-yes, sorry,” Eilwyn stammered, and she picked up her skirts to follow Morrigan over to where the witch had made her separate camp far away from the riverfront. Eilwyn glanced back to where everyone else was gathering with their backs to a rounded cliff by the creek, the waterfall droplets far enough away that they wouldn’t reach the fire, but close enough to drown out the sound of their cooking and the smoke of their flames.

When they were far away enough, Morrigan waved her hand over her own campfire and the warmth flared up briefly. Eilwyn stuck her hands out, an automatic gesture, and glanced over expecting to be debriefed about the research she’d requested.

Instead, Morrigan was holding the grimoire in both hands, her arms crossed before her chest as she clutching the book to her breast.

“Morrigan?”

“I must ask something of you,” she interrupted, her voice low.

“You have but to ask it, then,” Eilwyn answered. She reached out, her hand moving as if to grip her friend’s fingers, but Morrigan flinched as she almost always did. Offering a comforting smile instead, Eilwyn retracted her gesture.

“Tis a personal inquiry,” Morrigan muttered. “One that serves no particular purpose.”

Eilwyn moved her hands back over the flames.

“If it sates your curiosity, that’s a purpose.”

Morrigan snorted.

“Truly,” Eilwyn said, and she chuckled. “We’re friends, aren’t we?”

The witch’s eyebrows twitched together, even as her eyes widened, and her expression for just a brief second swayed to something akin to horror. But then she composed herself, as if a piece of information was aligning within her own mind, and she gave a sigh of defeat.

“I suppose we are. Though t’was not by my own doing, I do not think.”

Eilwyn grinned broadly and rubbed her gloved fingers together, trying to get the fire to reach in and kiss her bones.

“I wanted to ask you… why?” Morrigan murmured.

Eilwyn paused in her movements and tilted her head.

“Why what?”

“Why…” instead of finishing her thought, Morrigan gestured to where Alistair was preparing dinner and telling a story about fighting a great bear with his brother Wardens; she could tell because he was wielding the spoon at Zevran as he played the part of all three Wardens involved. She’d heard the story thrice now, even from afar it made-

“See, this is what I do not understand,” Morrigan interrupted Eilwyn’s thoughts. “The way you look at him. Tis as if you would bend the universe if he asked it of you.”

“Is that such a bad thing?” she asked, already smiling at the thought.

“Yes.”

Eilwyn sighed and tried not to look too unsurprised.

“Why?”

It was Morrigan’s turn to attempt to gloss over her expression of mild annoyance, and she did so poorly. The only sign of her even trying to do so was the twitch at the side of her lip to keep it from sneering.

“You are a capable mage,” Morrigan stated, her voice a low purr. “Granted, you still retain certain aspects of fragility bred into you by the docile servants who went before you-”

Eilwyn flinched outwardly at the remark, and surprisingly Morrigan seemed to almost instantly regret her choice of words. She hugged her grimoire tighter, her face registering a momentary flash of apprehension.

“What I meant to say was,” she said, her tone severe even as her eyes betrayed a type of kindness. “I can see how far you’ve come. And I can see how much potential you yet hold. I am no soothsayer, nor do I pretend to be, but I would be disappointed,” Morrigan paused and inhaled deeply as if to steel herself. “I would be disappointed to find a future where you gave up your worth for his. For anyone’s.”

Silence. In the wake of such an admission, there was little else to say. The fire crackled behind her, its flames finally strong enough to warm her through the layers of her skirt’s mail, and Eilwyn noted that Morrigan’s face was clearly lit. Standing with her back to the fire, was Eilwyn’s veiled in shadow? Hard to read?

“It seems that I spoke out of line,” Morrigan said quickly, and she moved as if she was going to leave Eilwyn standing there frozen in place. “Think nothing of it, return to your choirboy lest he accidentally set himself ablaze cooking a-”

Before she was finished with her barb, Morrigan made a squeaking noise as Eilwyn enveloped her in a sudden, light embrace. Their height difference was only a few inches, but it was enough that Eilwyn had to stand on her tiptoes in order to place her chin on Morrigan’s shoulder before she flinched too hard.

Even though it was a touch awkward hugging Morrigan with the grimoire between them, Eilwyn was happy to find the witch did not push her away. After a brief heartbeat where the witch seemed too shocked to move, she actually rested her chin on Eilwyn’s shoulder in return, if only for a moment.

“I know it can be hard to trust in others,” Eilwyn whispered, pulling away so that she could see Morrigan’s eyes as she spoke. “Especially when you two have not always… been on the best of terms with one another.”

Morrigan already catlike eyes flinted further.

“But!” Eilwyn grinned despite Morrigan’s reluctance. “I trust the both of you. I would not travel with you if I didn’t. And I know that neither of you would ask anything of me that would cause me to compromise myself in any way.”

Morrigan opened her mouth like she wanted to speak, then thought better of it.

Eilwyn took full advantage of that hesitation, and added one more comment.

“I will remember my own worth,” she said softly. “Promise.”

That seemed to be what Morrigan was waiting for. She exhaled, the noise laced with fatigue like the conversation had exhausted her.

“Good,” she said, nodding as she took a step backwards. “Now, if we are done with trading infantile gestures of friendship back and forth, we should take a look at the samples of poison I took.”

Eilwyn allowed her off the hook, turning towards the fire as Morrigan flipped pages open in her grimoire.

“I took a sample from Alistair’s wound, and have been testing it for the past few days. I believe we can recreate it, should you wish to have a specifically targeted poison for blades and arrows.”

“Let me see your notes,” Eilwyn said, promising nothing. “I will consider it.”

* * *

The night felt like a wary sigh, the weather having just barely held off from unleashing wind and snow the way it so very obviously wanted to. For one night, there was a pre-storm calm in the air, the stars crisp and clear as pinpricks in the night sky, and Eilwyn wondered if maybe this was the winter she’d read about in books.

So far, the winter approaching had been seen as a threat. An incomer, unwelcome in her inner circle. She’d read romanticized versions of it when she was a child, talking of powder snow and nights when your chest felt like every breath could crystalize in shimmery dust as it escaped you. But so far, the late autumn had been miserably cold, rainy, and windy.

This must be what they thought of, when those people wrote such things.

It was why she found herself sitting away from the fire, rubbing a warming rune between her fingers and pulling her layers about herself as she looked up at the sky. The fire cast too much light, distracted her eyes from the stars above, making them less clear. At its edge, nearer to the creek, she was lost in the vast ocean of the stars.

They were different than the ones she’d admired in summer. Back when she’d left the Circle.

Had it really been so long already?

“Eilwyn?” came a small voice from the fire.

“Mmm?”

“I’m keeping watch first,” Leliana said. Eilwyn turned back to her and saw she was settling by the fire with her lute. “Do you mind if I play?”

“Not at all,” Eilwyn answered with a grin.

She took in the rest of the circle, the way her friends were lounging about in the early hours of nightfall. It got dark so early lately.

Zevran was whittling a stick, humming every now and again as Leliana strummed, noncommitally, as if the elf was merely answering questions the melody was asking him in monosyllables.

Wynne was reading, a few wisps of bright light in her tent showing that she was still awake. Her magelights always manifested a pretty periwinkle, clear-headed as their caster. The color had become so commonplace during their nightly routines that it almost made Eilwyn yawn, so comfortable did she feel.

Sten was sharpening and oiling his blade, wearing both of his cloaks with as much dignity as he usually mustered. He pretended not to notice Leliana’s playing, but his ears pricked forward at every chorus.

Morrigan was drinking something as she studied, something warm that Eilwyn could see steaming even from where she sat far away from the group back towards the forest. She was absorbed, perhaps out of earshot, but at least she wasn’t pacing. When Morrigan was still, it meant one of two things: she was biding her time, or she was unintimidated. Eilwyn liked to think of her as the latter, tonight.

And last, but not least…

_ Wait. _

_ Where’s Alistair? _

Eilwyn glanced around, confused. Normally he loved when Leliana had first watch because of her songs. He’d lay back in the warm dirt by the fire with McWhistle snuggled up to his belly, usually asking Wynne silly questions about mages. Ones Eilwyn knew were meant to tease her.

But he wasn’t there.

Looking about, he didn’t seem to be in his tent, either.

“Zev,” Eilwyn asked, walking over to touch a hand to his shoulder. “Have you seen Alistair?”

“I have,” the Antivan purred. “What will you trade for sure information, I wonder?”

“Hmm.” Eilwyn put her hands on her hips and tried her best to regard him sternly. “I’ll tell you what I  _ won’t _ give you. If you tell me where he went, I  _ won’t _ make a sad face at you until you comply.”

“Pfft,” Zevran snorted. “Who says I would not enjoy seeing you beg?”

He seemed to pretend not to notice when Leliana strategically nudged him with her foot.

“Honestly I can just walk off until I find him,” Eilwyn said, deciding to try a different tactic. “Hope you can live with yourself knowing I wandered away because you didn’t want to-”

“Alright, alright,  _ braska _ ,” Zevran muttered. “Why am I your lover’s keeper, tell me this?”

Eilwyn flinched at the remark, however jokingly it was meant.

_ Ouch. _

Before she could retort, Zevran smoothed over his expression and sighed.

“You’re right. I don’t like seeing your face fall like that, little dove,” he said quickly, already repositioning himself on the makeshift log-chair he’d overturned in order to get more comfortable. “He went that way.”

Eilwyn felt her face retaining its fretful, awkward expression. Her mouth felt too tight, her tongue dry, her brow quirked so hard it almost hurt. But she couldn’t shake it. It was all she could do to keep her regret at the asking at bay.

_ He looks tired. _

_ Has looked tired, in fact, since Alistair got hurt. _

_ We haven’t talked since then, have we? _

Before she could think better of it, Eilwyn leaned down and caught Zevran in a hug about his neck. Leliana continued to play, not quite fumbling the tempo of the melody she’d been picking at, and Zevran gave a grunt of surprise.

“Such gratitude,” he purred.

Eilwyn pulled away far enough that their eyes were level, and she caught his gaze so that he could hopefully feel the sincerity there. And the concern.

“You’ve done a lot for us,” she said quietly. “Of course I’m thankful.”

Zevran’s eyes glossed over, for a moment arrogance and cold taking the place of her friend’s otherwise casual demeanor.

“A lot, you say.”

_ Is he… _

_ Is he referring to Alistair’s injury? _

_ His scouting ahead? _

“When do you have watch?” Eilwyn asked, fully aware that her arms were still perplexingly still draped over his shoulders. She had the strange sensation of trapping him there with her, and yet she didn’t pull away.

“After Leliana tires, I shall take over,” Zevran said. “But this-”

“I’ll keep you company,” Eilwyn said, smiling as she pulled away.

“That’s not necessary, my lady.”

“No, it’s not,” she said, walking off in the direction he’d pointed. “But you and I have some catching up to do.”

She heard him give a huff, one that felt theatrical even as the waterfall drowned out its gruffness, and Leliana’s tinkling giggle carried out with the melody of the lute. Eilwyn walked on, confidence a bit restored. When she’d said she’d keep him company, Zevran had given himself away.

He’d blushed.

* * *

Eilwyn found a rock wall before she found Alistair. She came upon it, marveling at how she might have been had by her trickster friend, but then rationalized that Sten would have spoken up if Zevran had lied.

Wouldn’t he have?

She was about to turn around and go back to the fire when she heard a definitively false owl’s call.

“Hoo- _ hoo _ .”

“Who yourself!” she whirled, expecting to catch Alistair behind her.

But no. There was only the path back along the creek, to where the glowing embers of her party’s camp lay just beyond the bend. Eilwyn looked back to the waterfall with her heart beating faster in her chest.

It came again, quieter.

“ _ Hoo-hoooo. _ ”

“Come on, stop playing,” she said, lowering her stance. “Where are you?”

She was glancing around when she felt a plink of something tap her square in the center of her part. Eilwyn turned in a full circle once more, expecting to see Alistair by the rushes where the creek slowed, or maybe up along the ridge on the other side, though why he’d have crossed the creek-

“Eila!” he shouted, laughing. “Look up!”

She spun for the last time, back to the waterfall, and squinted in the dark. Her eyes adjusted, and she saw a hand waving at her from only a few feet up, almost at the waterfall’s spout.

“Who- _ who _ is it?” she mocked, and she hoped the little attempt would cover how her heart was still almost in her throat.

“Oh, nobody in particular,” Alistair answered, and he pulled himself up to the ledge so that his chin was resting on the forearm that had waved.

“You know,” Eilwyn said, crossing her arms before her. “This is not the first time I’ve found you, having wandered off from camp, perched up on a rock of all things.”

“What can I say?” Alistair grinned. “I have a one-track mind.”

Eilwyn beamed up at him in the night, then glanced around.

“Where’s McWhistle?”

“Oh, he’s patrolling. I sent him sniffing, he’ll be back in a few.” Alistair paused, then scrambled even closer to the ledge. “Call me ambitious but, this ledge feels like it could hold two people.”

She scoffed and tried to reign in her smile, to turn it into a look of playful disdain.

It wasn’t working.

“Want to come up and join me?” he asked, his voice rich and low, suggestive in a way that implied he knew he was doing it and half expected her to refuse.

Eilwyn glanced up, truly taking in the perch he’d made for himself. The waterfall was not an especially large on, merely wide and loud. Its ridge that it nestled into was comprised of many layersof rocks and stumps of petrified trees, or so she assumed. It was hard to tell when everything was covered with moss and frost. Alistair had climbed only about five feet above the ground, the jut of the ledge implying that he could stretch out his entire body on its platform and still be in a position of cover.

_ Oh. _

Her lips parted, a flash of inspiration hitting her almost as quickly as the subsequent guilt. She’d thought of what they could do up there, together, their cloaks tangled about one another as they finally kissed just as deeply as they had in the tent when he’d lain recovering and desperate and-

“Or, you can stand there gawking,” Alistair teased. “You’re absolutely beautiful when you hesitate.”

She stuck her tongue out, and he pretended to swoon.

“Be still my heart!”

“Be still your tongue, you mean,” she chided, hitching up her skirts to come join him on the ledge. She found two handholds immediately, and the rocks weren’t half as slippery as she’d imagined.

“Around you, love?” Alistair asked, helping her to the ledge as she pulled herself up the last foot. He pulled her close, one hand at her cheek, and lowered his voice to a breathy whisper. “Absolutely never.”

He kissed her even as she readjusted onto the rock, his eagerness seemingly uncontainable now that she was within touching distance. She craned her neck to accept the kiss, and as their gasps intermingled in foggy breaths between them, she scooted backwards until her legs were up and over the ledge entirely.

“Hello there, magelet.”

“Hello, my warrior,” she said, pressing a light kiss to the tip of his nose. “How are we this evening?”

“We are…” Alistair sighed and lay back on the rock, stretching out. “Contemplative.”

She’d been right. The ledge was the size of two people, just about, if she tucked her knees close. She snuggled close, noticing that he’d switching out his plate armor for more layers of leather and fur. As she laid herself onto his chest, he still felt bulky as he always did, but softer somehow too.

_ Why the change? _

“Contemplative is good for stargazing,” she answered, aware she was in her own thoughts as well.

“Mmm.” Alistair paused, then intook a breath rather sharply. “Did you ever notice how we only seem to be able to talk at night?”

“We’re only given alone time at night,” Eilwyn said with a giggle. “And the last time I asked you to kiss me in front of Zevran you blushed and mumbled something about an audience.”

“Because we had one,” Alistair muttered, proving her point.

“Do you not like our night talks?”

“No,” he answered, then immediately his arm tightened about her shoulders. “No as in, I don’t  _ not _ like them, because I love them.” Eilwyn laughed and Alistair gave a shaky exhale. “I love every chance I get to talk with you.”

“I love you,” she whispered, leaning up to press a kiss to the pulse at his neck.

His arms were about her in an instant, the embrace warm and cozy despite the cold of the air surrounding them. Eilwyn buried her face in the fabric of his cloak, bunched comfortably at his shoulder, and inhaled the warm, musky, scent of him.

“We, um,” Alistair cleared his throat, and she noticed that his hands were still pressing her tight to him. “We haven’t talked just the two of us since our…  _ talk _ a few nights ago.”

“Which talk?” Eilwyn asked innocently.

“You know…”

“The one where you touched me?” she whispered, arching up so that her hushed tones could hum right beneath his earlobe. She could feel him shudder at the mention, and something drove her to act before she thought. Sensing the warmth of his pulse, the heat of his skin, Eilwyn stuck out her tongue and drew Alistair’s earlobe gently between her teeth.

It was a little nip.

Nothing much.

But Alistair gave a shuddering gasp and his embrace immediately tightened further just as Eilwyn pressed the curve of her full length into his side. Her hands found his shoulders, found purchase, and she wished there weren’t so many layers separating them now.

She’d been so close to him before, had she not?

So close, she’d felt him flex through his own smalls.

_ Andraste preserve me, am I… _

_ Am I a harlot? _

_ For teasing him so? _

Part of her didn’t care to answer that. If she was, Alistair liked it, and that effortless desire she seemed to send coursing through him made her sins feel worthwhile in a twisted, powerful way.

“Yes, that night,” he whispered at her neck, and it was Eilwyn’s turn to shiver. “I haven’t been able to put it out of my mind.”

“I couldn’t tell,” she said. “You’ve seemed perfectly normal.”

The comment came out a bit more petulant than she’d intended. But it was true, wasn’t it? He’d gone back to being himself, unaffected by the orgasm he’d given her through sheer luck and desperation on both of their parts, and she had had to…

_ To what? _

_ Sleep it off alone? _

_ Wonder if it was good for him? _

_ Wonder if he might do it again? _

Eilwyn realized even as Alistair kissed a line up her jaw over to her mouth that she very much wanted to talk. She kissed him back, her lips tighter than normal, her mouth showing the emotion she didn’t quite know how to put into words.

Alistair tried once, then twice, and then seemingly realized it was not his imagination and stopped. He pulled away to look at her in the moonlight, the stars up above him dazzlingly bright.

“Is normal bad?” he asked.

Eilwyn shrugged, feeling a bit silly now that it had been brought to light. Her stomach in knots, she tried to lean up to kiss him once more, to move on from the unease she’d brought to an otherwise romantic moment, but Alistair turned and kissed her cheek instead. With a gentle and consistent push, he lowered her to the rock and joined her on his side, his arm beneath her cheek and his elbow bent so that he could smooth her hair from her face as he held her.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I thought I was doing a good thing, pretending nothing happened.”

“You did,” Eilwyn answered.

“But it sounds like it kind of upset you.”

“It…” she trailed off, then fumbled for her words for a moment, before blurting out softly, “I’ve never done anything like that with another person before. Not even close. And it was really…”

Alistair waited for her to find what she wanted to say, but even in the dark she could tell he wanted to speak up. She smiled, tracing her fingers down the plane of his jaw to his throat, memorizing the components of his visage.

“It was beautiful, and fun, but it was terrifying,” she bit out. “I didn’t know if you… thought of me differently.”

She winced, thinking that she should attempt to soften the confession, but it was already out there between them. Were it not for the way Alistair never slowed in his caresses, Eilwyn would have thought his silence to mean he was offended.

_ He isn’t. _

_ He wouldn’t be. _

Still, even though the most rational part of her mind told her this was truth, Eilwyn couldn’t help but feel guilty. If he’d announced it to the camp, she’d have felt cheap. It was special, a moment for just the two of them, and he respected that. He’d kept their dignity, as a sign of his devotion.

So what else did she want from him?

Instead of even trying to conjecture, she buried her face against his and let out an exhausted little groan.

“I don’t know what I’m looking for,” she sighed.

“Neither do I,” Alistair said. “For- for me, I mean. For myself.”

She pulled back to catch his eye in the dark, but he was glancing at her tresses as he smoothed them over her ear.

“That’s why I wanted to talk with you about it, because I suppose I feel much the same. Like, it was momentous, to get to do that with you. It felt so… like such a large thing, larger than it maybe felt when we did it. But then we were silent afterwards. And I’m not ashamed, I could never be, believe me I’m… quite frankly, a little proud, if we’re being honest. That you would do that… with someone like me.”

Eilwyn chuckled, and Alistair finally allowed his gaze to wander back to hers.

“I can’t believe you chose me,” he whispered. “ _ Me. _ Of all people.”

“Why is that such a surprise?” she giggled.

“You could have had anyone, take your pick. Suave, charming, knowledgeable-”

“Oh ser,” Eilwyn purred archly against his throat. “You are quite knowledgeable.”

“Careful, minx,” Alistair said. “Lest you earn yourself another night of fumbling around in the dark with me.”

“Tease,” she accused.

He kissed her before she could say more, one that seemed to seal a promise of future days where they would be able to steal away more often than this. When Eilwyn opened her eyes as they broke away from one another, she was pleased to find it had started snowing.

Tiny flurries. Delicate. The air was strangely warm even as the snow fell, warmer compared to the chill that came with the snarls of wind anyway. The stillness in the air just above the waterfall allowed them to float lazily downwards, as if everything was suspended in time. When the snowflakes reached them, however, the gusts of air pushed out from the crash of water into the creek made them panic and flutter madly, like butterflies escaping a harsh gale.

She smiled, looking up at the sky, and felt Alistair interlock his fingers with hers by her hip.

“Of course I chose you,” Eilwyn whispered. “My love. How could I have chosen anyone else?”

She turned to him, something too heavy and precious to be put into words weighing down on every fiber within her being. She knew, in this moment, that Morrigan was fatally right. If anything happened to Alistair, Eilwyn didn’t know what she would do. He was her dearest friend, her inspiration, her motivation, and now truly her lover as well, wasn’t he?

The thought was daunting and maddening, yet strangely she felt as if she had earned this. Anything less would not have suited her at all. Some part of her had been drawn to him even at Ostagar, even when she didn’t know what it was she was seeking.

She kissed him more deeply, her leg coming up to straddle his hip when he pulled her close, and this time neither of them broke away to continue speaking. When her tongue found his lower lip, when his caresses turned more insistent and pressured, Eilwyn parted her lips and took him deeper.

Their moans were lost to the waterfall, their hurried breaths as they began to undo buckles and clasps their unspoken mutual pining. Wordlessly, they pressed and kissed and touched, letting their hands roam over the other’s body with wild abandon, with no fear of being seen or being ambushed even entering their minds.

The night sky was their guardian, the water their cover, but Eilwyn cast a sustained barrier of warmth about their bodies just to be sure.

As Alistair stripped her down, as she pulled his armor apart, they spoke in guttural, urgent syllables.

“Clothes?”

“Off.”

“Boots too?”

“No, too many laces.”

Alistair scoffed.

"Boots off, I think."

"Okay, okay. Get mine while I cast a barrier."

“So just-”

“Lift your arm, Alistair, let me get to your buckles-”

“Are we going to-?”

“No! I mean, maybe we won’t go that far tonight.”

“Would you like to- I mean,” Alistair dragged his lips down her cheek to her throat as he spoke, apprehension or want tightening his tone, “should we… do that?”

“I don’t know. Maybe? Maybe not. Just- just keep kissing me, already!”

“Oh, at your service, my lady.”

Alistair’s hand found her breast as soon as he exposed it, gripping her flesh so hard at first that she squeaked for him to gentle his touch. He was over-eager, on a precarious edge or so it seemed, and yet he still reigned himself in and did as she asked. He touched her sweetly, massaging the flesh of her breast so tenderly that she couldn’t help but let out a frantic little moan when he stopped to pay attention to the other one.

When he bent his head to lick at her nipple, she gasped so hard she choked.

Coughing, Eilwyn brought one hand to the back of Alistair’s neck, the other she used to cover her mouth.

“Are you alright-”

She pulled his face to hers and kissed him, nodding, despairing against any momentum being lost in this moment, even for her clumsiness.

“Do that again,” she ordered into his mouth, and Alistair shuddered.

_ Is he cold? _

No, he couldn’t be, the barrier she’d cast for silence kept the warmth their bodies were generating. It redoubled their own heat back against them, an insulation of sorts. And they were generating a lot of it.

_ Oh. _

_ He likes what I said. _

_ That I ordered him. _

Eilwyn was about to say more, to demand it of him, when his tongue pressed flat against her flesh once more.

Her hand threaded its way through his hair, her back arching, and he repeated the gesture until the sensitive bud was pebbled and tight, so tight that every sensation bordered almost on pain. Pleasure shot in jolts from her breast to her pelvis, liquid and molten and  _ good _ . She could feel her clit pulsing as she rubbed her thighs together, as she adjusted to grind her hips against his thigh, and just as she thought she might crest from that licking alone, Alistair covered her entire nipple with his mouth and sucked.

It was almost too much sensation. Eilwyn felt her pleasure reaching a plateau of height, as if she was on an edge but this wouldn’t do much to push her over it. She marveled at that, wondered why that was, wondered how it would feel if he was rubbing her with his thumb as he suckled at her breast.

She noted after some time that he was going to repeat a gesture until she told him not to. He was waiting on her signals, on her voice, and a part of her wondered what it would be like for Alistair to take charge. To do the ordering.

The thought sent a fizzy slide of lust crackling through her abdomen and back up again.

_ If he needs an order now, though, I can definitely give him one. _

She pressed her other breast, the one Alistair had yet to lick, over to his mouth in order to test the sensation. Was the right one the only sensitive one? Were both required to send her to that shattering peak he’d brought her to the other night? If so, did they need any particular order or-

Eilwyn cried out as he laved his tongue over her sensitive flesh, so loud that Alistair actually brought his palm up to lightly cover her lips.

“Shh,” he whispered against her heartbeat, right before he took her nipple between his teeth. For a heart-stopping moment, Eilwyn worried he would bite down. Some irrational fear, some protective instinct. But then he curved his lips tight about her sensitive nub and flicked his tongue so quickly back and forth over it that she couldn’t keep her voice low.

“Ah!”

At first, she wanted to laugh. It felt laughable, almost, to be doing this. Objectively, it was a compromising and ridiculous thing to want to do to someone, to taste their nipples, of all things!

But Alistair’s obvious enjoyment spurred something Eilwyn couldn’t explain, feeding an appetite she hadn’t realized she was even capable of. He moaned against her breast, his hips rolling almost without his permission to rut against her body, his hands at her waist, and Eilwyn had never felt more worshiped. Desire built swiftly within her, time becoming an irrational, irrelevant mist. How long had they been on the ledge? Did it even matter? Every touch, every heartbeat, it left her trembling and aching and feeling everything all at once.

“Wait,” she whispered, and her hands slid down Alistair’s back, past where he still had his head bent to her breast. She pulled him up by the shoulder alongside her, snuggling down against his collarbone, then further as she groped for the lacing of his breeches. The act of sliding her bare chest along his made her shudder, and she heard him let out a gasp when she pressed the heat of her body against his.

She was grateful he’d been wearing leather garments, anyway, and not the metal he normally wore. Why he’d switched from heavy plate, she couldn’t be sure. Was he trying to keep weight off of his leg for a while yet?

Eilwyn banished such thoughts and focused on her mission.

With a quick intake of breath, she withheld a moan as her fingers found the knot she’d been seeking and began to pull it apart. It was difficult, but luckily she had the advantage of her nails to undo whatever tangle he’d managed to inflict upon the threads.

She half-expected Alistair to stop her. To ask her what she was doing. But, shaky though his breathing had become, he didn’t question her. When she glanced up at his face before parting the slit in the front opening of his breeches, his eyes were heavy-lidded but open. He looked tired, because of the shadows cast in the dark, his mouth slack as if he was begging to be kissed into sleepy bliss once more.

Eilwyn obliged.

_ How can I resist him? _

Her hands were clumsy and catching upon themselves as she fought to open his breeches. He began to help her, his fingers brushing against hers, and when their knuckles collectively dragged against the underside of his straining erection, they both let out a simultaneous moan.

Giggles, nervous, bubbled forth after that, soon to be caught back in a heated kiss. Without thinking, Eilwyn operated on instinct, clutching him carefully the way he’d asked her to before.

There were no smalls in the way now. Either he’d foregone them entirely today, or had managed to get himself out of them in a way that was unbeknownst to her. When her palm caught the full weight of his cock, she almost flinched away.

“Is it okay?” he whispered.

“More than okay,” was her breathy reply. “I just… are you sensitive at all?”

“It’s odd having someone else’s skin on that area, I will admit.”

He sounded frightened, his voice catching on the last syllable. But then he cleared his throat once, then again more loudly. Seeming to regain an air of confidence, Alistair leaned over and nibbled the curve of her neck.

“Your hands aren’t cold, if that’s what you’re asking,” he whispered. “But we could fix that. If you know what I mean.”

His palms cupped her arse, pulling their hips together hard enough to make her squeak in happy surprise, and Eilwyn began to trace up and down the length of him with her fingers barely grazing his skin. She felt him groan against her, his jaw tight, and his cock flexed upwards towards his belly when she reached the head of him.

_ I wonder… _

She had seen drawings, and gestures, of what one was supposed to do with a man’s cock. But she’d never actually gone through the motions.

_ Are the sensation best kept concentrated at the tip? _

_ Will hands alone be too rough? _

_ Is it a pulling motion, or a twisting one? _

_ How hard a grip is necessary to elicit that moan of his again? _

As she was questioning herself, Eilwyn ran her palm gently up and then down the silken skin of Alistair’s shaft. It was a difficult sensation to describe. Beneath the surface, he was swollen rock-hard, worryingly so. She hadn’t actually been aware the male body became so intensely rigid. The tip of him was leaking, only just barely.

At first she’d though she’d imagined it, that it was a sensation of the cold skipping through her barrier and catching at her finger. But no. It seemed to be a natural occurrence, something nobody had warned her about, something she didn’t want to ask about lest it embarrass Alistair during the moment. In actuality, it excited her. There was a tiny droplet of fluid dangling from the very tip each time her fingertips found their way back up to his head, so maybe it meant he was enjoying whatever she was doing.

She explored further, dipping her hands lower. He had a tangle of hair, more wiry than the hair on the rest of his body, right at the base of his shaft. As Eilwyn kissed him, as she tried to map out her approach to building up his pleasure, she ran her fingers through it experimentally and Alistair gave a deep and satisfying shudder.

On a whim, her one desire to get him to make noise, to fold at her mercy the way she’d folded mere days ago, Eilwyn twisted her arm and moved her fingers down further to gently feel for his balls.

At first, he let out a shocked laugh, as if he hadn’t expected the touch and part of him wanted to shy away. But on the edge of the noise was a more primal one, a growl she hadn’t heard before, and his hips bucked forward.

_ He likes this. _

Eilwyn could feel things tighten when she cupped his sac in her palm. Like they retracted, momentarily, and then relaxed. She made mental notes, trying to log this new information even as her head was swimming with heady yearning. Just as she’d had the inane and almost stupid thought that his cock was alive, so too did that sentence reappear in her mind now.

To be fair, Eilwyn reasoned with herself, she’d only ever seen imitations of the real thing.

_ Of course I would notice its living mannerisms. _

_ Perfectly normal. _

_ All of this is normal. _

_ … Right? _

Without warning, Alistair shifted upwards, kissing at her temple instead of her lips. As he moved, he turned on his back and dragged Eilwyn down to his chest. She tried to lift her leg to straddle him, but he lovingly pushed it back down.

Eilwyn gave a petulant little whimper. She remembered the Tower, where she’d straddled him and leaned back into his hips, the way he’d looked up at her.

Maker, she wanted him to look at her like that.

She wanted to feel powerful, beautiful, loved, even though she already did. It was addictive, almost hysterical, this need. Nothing was enough, not when Alistair so freely seemed to give her more at her very request.

“Don’t pout, magelet,” he whispered, his voice rough. His hand found hers, gently guiding her fingers from the tangle of hair at the base of his cock back up to curve about his shaft, and she gasped at the feeling of his chest against her bare breasts and his cock full seated in her hand.

Her arm, the one not stretched down the length of his body, was pinned uncomfortably underneath of her body. It wasn’t falling asleep just yet, but it tingled in warning, and she made like she was going to move to get more comfortable.

That was when Alistair curled his fingers over her knuckles and gave a single pump.

The noise Eilwyn heard catch in his throat, half-whimper, half-groan, excited her further. If such a thing was even possible, that is; as it stood, she was afraid of once again soaking through her garments if this kept up.

He did it again, this time releasing a trembling exhale, as if he was barely holding himself in check. As if he was having to show restraint, or perhaps he was building himself up to ask for more.

Andraste preserve her, she wanted more.

“You aren’t going to hurt me,” he whispered gruffly into the part of her hair.

“I… what?”

“Grasp me tighter,” he growled. “Use more pressure.”

She obeyed, marveling at how commanding Alistair could sound when he wanted to.

“I’m trying. A-Are all men this big?” Eilwyn asked, and he gave a surprised snort.

“I… um, I’m not… I don’t know how to answer without either sounding like a braggart or a pig,” Alistair chuckled. “I think I’m average?”

“Oh. Maker.”

The intimidation she felt must have been audible in her tone, because Alistair began to trail kisses over her swept-aside curls and down to her forehead.

“It can’t hurt you,” he whispered, probably teasing. But the words made Eilwyn flinch internally.

_ I’ve heard that that part’s inevitable. _

_ But he said we aren’t doing… that. Not tonight. _

_ So don’t think on it. _

“Does it feel good to go fast, or slow?” she asked, trying to distract herself from thoughts of this girth inside of her. Her hand managed to close around him, only just, and her palm did not cover half his length. That seemed like too much. It was excessive.

_ Alistair, your cock is excessive. _

It was her turn to giggle nervously once more, a noise that seemed only to relax Alistair further.

“It depends.” He nuzzled closer to her and his hand guided hers once more up and down the length of him. “Anything you do to me feels amazing. But you can explore to your heart’s content, slow if you like.”

“Are you sure? I mean, it’s alright?” Eilwyn asked, and Alistair nodded vigorously.

“So very, very alright,” he murmured. “One might even say it’s beyond alright. Delightful, even.”

Eilwyn grinned, marveling at the fact that she had once felt so nervous about teasing during intimate times such as these. She liked this, much preferring this odd sense of comfortability over hyperfocused seriousness.

Not that she didn’t like Alistair serious.

She did, but it just-

“Ooh.”

His hand was at her skirts, shifting them up along her legs. She parted her thighs for him, trepidation momentarily surging as anxiety over such newness, such an invasion, clawed at her to shut her legs.

Alistair’s breath at her neck, his naked skin against hers, the way her nipples grazed against the fur and fabric of the cloak he still wore about himself even though she’d unlaced and tossed aside his braided leather cuirass…

That was what relaxed Eilwyn so that her hips rolled lasciviously wider for him, just as Alistair caught her hand at his shaft and stilled  her movements.

“Hold on,” he begged, his words taut through clenched teeth. “Hold on, please,  _ please  _ not yet-”

He was on her in an instant, shifting to the side so that his hip pressed against hers while he pulled her hand away from his cock. Their legs tangled as she arched up into his touch. Her skirts yanked up and crushed between them, her robe undone down to her waist, her belts askew and her hair coming down from its braid, Eilwyn felt mussed and beautiful and alive.

“Touch me,” she whimpered, bringing her hand up the hard plane of his stomach as Alistair shifted the both of their bodies.

“I’m trying, love, here, move… your leggings are stuck,” Alistair grunted as he repositioned her. Eilwyn shimmied to try to help him, to get her clothes off quicker, to feel the way he’d made her feel before. She wanted to reach for her peak, to grind on his thumb the way he’d let her before, the way he’d  _ encouraged _ her to do before.

Alistair kissed her throat, leaning down as she finally pulled her legs closed. It was counter-intuitive to do, but it was enough for Alistair to bring her leggings down to her knees with a great tug. So great, in fact, that her smalls were ripped from the apex of her thighs, exposing her sex to the night air for the first time.

She gasped and clamped her legs shut instinctively, but her hands did not move from where they were carding through Alistair’s hair, seeking to mess it up as satisfyingly as he had disheveled hers. Alistair either didn’t notice or hadn’t heard her noise, because his hand came up to reverently cover the triangle of curls between her legs.

“M-maker’s breath!”

His flinch was almost comical. As if he hadn’t meant to divest her so thoroughly. As if the curls of her pubic hair had physically burned him. Eilwyn rolled back so that her shoulders pressed into the rock, tired of laying on one side in order to cling to him, and Alistair did the same.

Panting, the both of them looked over their shoulder at the other, the stars high above them as the snow flurries glanced off of the barrier Eilwyn was somehow managing to maintain.

“So… is this… do we…?” Alistair stammered, seemingly unable to focus on any singular thought long enough to blurt it completely.

The back of her left hand was resting against the lower, hard plane of his belly; his knuckles were relaxed against the edge of her thigh, just barely grazing along the ticklish spot beneath her hipbone. By all rights, it should have been laughable to stop at such a point. To recoil in such a manner.

But they weren’t laughing.

Suddenly, the mirth of the situation was gone, replaced by a soft regard that came with complete and total exposure. Or so Eilwyn assumed. She’d only ever been this naked around other women her age, and rarely. To have Alistair touch her, or just be near her… she was unprepared for the vulnerable intimacy.

And, so it seemed, was Alistair.

With his free hand, even though his eyes did not flee from hers for an instant as he moved, Alistair pulled the rest of his underlayers free, laying bare the skin of his chest just as Eilwyn’s had been. His cloak no longer covered him in the slightest, and he shrugged his sleeves free so that his arms were bare beside her. His shoulder brushed against hers as he shifted to lay back down, and Eilwyn gasped.

She, in turn, forced the tension in her thighs to decrease, gradually, until she could feel a trail of her own slick chill at the exposure to the air. She did the same as Alistair, following his lead, pulling her arms free of her robes and then shifting her crumpled robes down from about her waist to lay in a pile at her feet.

As she moved, she heard Alistair grunt and then saw his breeches fly over to join her robes. She couldn’t catch her breath. Her heart was beating too fast, she could hear it in her ears, could feel it in her stomach. But she was not to be left behind, and more than the terror at something unknown, she felt in control of her desire.

And his.

With a kick and a lean, Eilwyn divested herself of her leggings as well. Fully naked, she relaxed slowly backwards until she was laying down next to the bare body of her lover. She took a deep breath, then looked over her shoulder at him.

It was as if he was waiting for her eyes to meet his. Immediately, Alistair burst into a smile, and she couldn’t help but do the same. Only then did she watch his gaze drift downward, and out of the corner of her eye she could see his cock twitch.

_ If he’s looking… so can I. _

Eilwyn took him in greedily, drinking in the downy hair along his chest and down the plane of his stomach, where it darkened into the wiry hairs at the base of his straining cock. Worried momentarily at the indecency of it, Eilwyn felt her face flush bright pink, but she did not look away from his swollen member. At her observation, perhaps, he flexed it, either involuntarily or knowingly.

Her eyes drifted back up to Alistair’s, and she found him exploring her body in much the same way. Even though their hands rested within inches of one another’s most carnal parts, they had never seen one another in this light before. Thoughts of ravaging, as romance novels seemed so often to talk about, were gone from Eilwyn’s mind. Instead there was a soft glow of appreciation, a slight twitch of fear, and an intense swell of love.

“I love you,” she mouthed in the dark, the words barely audible.

“And I, you,” Alistair whispered back, his voice so low it was devoid of tone. Merely hissing breath between them, the sound of the waterfall muffled by the barrier overtop of them. “What should we do now?”

“I…”

Eilwyn thought once more, alarm pinging briefly within her chest and receding to her limbs, about the girth of him. The sheer size. He was larger than she’d remembered him being through his smallclothes before, if that was even possible. She knew he was asking if they should do more, and a part of her wanted to. More than anything.

But before the pain that she knew was to come with such an act, she needed something of her own first.

“Can you,” Eilwyn closed her eyes, unable to look at him even now while she said it, “give me another orgasm?”

He let out a sharp exhale, a noise of surprise, and Eilwyn opened her eyes to hurriedly explain herself, to tell him it was fine if he couldn’t but she wanted to try. As her lips parted, Alistair pulled her on her side towards him once more.

She grunted, her arm pinned beneath her once more.

“Awkward?” he asked against her lips.

“A little,” she confessed. “I’d be more comfortable on my other side for a bit. That way I could use my dominant hand.”

He seemed to momentarily lose his words at such an implication.

“Here,” he whispered hoarsely, “switch sides with me.”

She moved to get up, but must have misunderstood how he wanted her to go about moving to his other side. With both hands moving to her waist, Alistair pulled Eilwyn over him, and for one brief and licentious moment Eilwyn froze as she straddled his stomach.

She was lifted up high enough over him that his cock didn’t yet part the folds of her lips, yet she knew that when he flexed, he would drag the length of his shaft upwards along the dripping slickness that lined her thighs.

_ I could lower myself onto him. _

_ I could do it now. _

_ He asked me what we would do, I could decide to do this now. _

But something stopped her. Maybe it was the look of quiet consternation on Alistair’s face, as if he was making an effort to hide it from her by clenching his jaw and saying nothing. Maybe it was her own fear that won out in the end, that plucked her bravery from her breast and reminded her that this was not ideal.

Whatever it was, Eilwyn immediately flushed even hotter, and to try to cover her embarrassing pause, she leaned down and kissed the tip of Alistair’s nose once more before rolling over to his other side.

“You…” Alistair sighed happily, and she could see the glint of his white smile in the moonlight. “Do you always get so wet, when you’re aroused?”

“Um,” Eilwyn bit back a laugh at how bluntly he asked such a thing. She could see his grimace even in the dark, and wondered if he was mentally cursing himself for being so direct. “No. Not that I remember. Unless I touch, then stop at the edge, and then continue like that. If I build up for hours.”

“Hours!” he breathed.

“I mean-”

“Have you built up for hours before, Eila?” Alistair asked, and she sensed his fingers tracing a lazy line up the inside of her thigh.

Her breathing quickening, her chest tight and panic mingling with the heady scent of arousal and intimacy surrounding her, Eilwyn tried to concentrate.

_ Talk to him. _

“I have,” she confessed.

“Naughty magelet,” he chided. She let out a cry, strangled and lewd, and her whole body seemed to writhe from want. “Tell me more.”

“About that time?”

“If you care to tell me.”

“I- I was alone,” Eilwyn whispered, trying to remember a specific time. “I couldn’t sleep. I’d read this book, a book with sinful pictures-”

“You can touch me while you talk,” Alistair whispered. “If you want. Please.”

His tone from before, the strict playfulness, was gone in lieu of his plea. Eilwyn immediately brought her hand down to his erect cock, and he shivered at her touch.

That alone brought her closer than any words could have.

“The book, Eila,” he said, an order that sent pinpricks of electric desire tingling up and down her spine.

“It showed one picture in particular that I liked,” she whispered, and Alistair’s fingers crept closer to her curls as she spoke. She traced her fingers up and down the velvet rigidity of his erection, speaking in a low tone as she did.

“Just the one?”

“No. Definitely not,” she chuckled, and Alistair’s hand twitched at her thigh. “But I liked it the best.”

"What was it?"

"It was a woman, sitting on a man's lap," Eilwyn whispered. "Facing him. Her legs on either-"

Alistair’s index finger probed at her, and Eilwyn forgot her words. There was that urge to clamp her thighs shut again, but greater than that, more frightening than that, she had the urge to sit further onto his hand. To force him to penetrate her more deeply. Her insides clenched, she could feel the involuntary grip of it, and pleasure streaked from her sensitive, swollen folds up to spool in her pelvis.

She was moaning, she could feel it in the back of her throat, and imploring him. Her hand was at his stomach instead of his cock, then at his waist, roaming as his thumb slowly sought that precious pearl of flesh that would get her there.

He was too rough at first, as if forgetting how little he needed to do. She hissed in pain, her thighs closing, and he apologized. When she relaxed, he tapped gingerly at her, trying to find a good place to touch.

The rest of his fingers slid flat along the length of her, as if he was playing in her slick. Eilwyn felt her face burning, the sheer indecency of such an act driving her to the point of madness.

“I like that,” she bit out, embarrassment whittling away a bit as she spoke up once more.

_ In control. _

“I like your fingers slow, easy.” Eilwyn brought her hand down to join his, to help him part her lips to better find her clit. At the touch of her knuckles against his, Alistair inhaled sharply and nudged her cheek with his chin to allow him access to her mouth.

As he kissed her, his tongue flicking teasingly over the curve of her lips, his fingers began to slide up and down the length of her, just barely penetrating her with every stroke. It wasn’t enough to do more than tease her opening, and Eilwyn began to shake and whimper.

_ Not long now. _

“Can I?” she whispered, begging, asking permission.

“Can you what?” Alistair asked, and he sounded genuinely confused.

“Tell me,” Eilwyn bit out, her peak within sight, her desire almost too much to bear. Her thighs ached from the sensation, her toes curling, Alistair’s patient and ever-diligent strokes so constant and studious that she didn’t know how she could cope.

“Tell you  _ what _ ?” he teased, kissing her more deeply as she moaned into his mouth.

Her hand found his cock, turning the tables. She could feel her clit pulsing at the noises that escaped them both, at the feeling of Alistair’s hand quickening at her, working her ever smoothly, but more demandingly, as if he wanted to draw an orgasm out of her now.

But she needed something more.

This felt divine, heavenly, but something was missing, something she needed.

Alistair’s body surged towards hers, his hips moving seemingly of their own volition, his whimpers growing just as desperate as hers, and Eilwyn wondered if he was seeking out his own peak at the same time.

_ Oh sweet blood of Andraste. _

_ I want to make him- _

“Tell me to come,” she begged, her voice too loud, her body already convulsing. “Tell me to come, and when I start, please- do what you did with your fingers.”

There was no smallclothes between them now. She knew what she wanted, knew how deeply she craved penetration, even as he moved his thumb in tighter circles about the hood of her clit and beneath it, kneading pleasure into it from all sides.

Her body began to clench. It was out of her control, and she could feel Alistair bring his free hand, the one crushed between them on his side, down to cover his cock. He pumped deliberately, his strokes calculated, and Eilwyn realized he was making himself come with her.

“Now,” Alistair ordered, his voice tight.

His middle finger plunged into the depths of her. His thumb abandoned her clit, his movements growing erratic, and Eilwyn helped him. She brought her own fingers to her nub, flashing them back and forth across her flesh just how she knew would tip her over the edge, applying just the right pressure as Alistair added his ring finger to her, and she felt something hot splash against her stomach.

“Ah- Eila!”

Her body tightened all over and began to release and hold in waves. Each clench of her muscles sent a higher crest of pleasure shattering across her body, starting from her pelvis and radiating outward, and she could feel herself moaning and breathing but she was unable to hear it. The white hot power of her climax rolled over her body until she let her hand fall away from her curls.

She fell in a tumble against Alistair’s shoulder, nuzzling him as his own breathing filled her ears. Drifting in the gauzy glow of contentment after such release, she didn’t register that Alistair made a noise until he began to pull away from her.

Sticky. Wet. She felt something strange at her hand and she flinched back just as Alistair caught her hand.

“Don’t, ah,” he swayed, looking woozy. “Maker, give me a minute.”

“What is that?” Eilwyn asked.

“What’s what?”

“The…  _ stuff _ on my hand!”

Alistair was immediately awake and aware. He shifted so that he could lean up on his elbow to look at her, and when he glanced down his jaw fell open.

“Oh, Eilwyn, I’m… oh I’m sorry, sweetheart, hold on,” he murmured, already sitting up to grab for his clothes. “Don’t move!”

Eilwyn glanced down, and in the pale light of the moon and stars she could just barely make out what looked like long ropes of paint splatters across her tummy. Lifting her hand, it was more of the same, just in a higher concentration.

“Here,” Alistair knelt back next to her, and Eilwyn tried to avoid glancing down at the pendulous way his cock, still heavy and hard, hung between his knees.

_ Am I that much of a harlot? _

_ To want him even as the remnants of my orgasm render me useless? _

She lay there, contemplating how bad it would be to ask for more attention, when she realized Alistair was wiping her stomach clean.

“What are you doing?” she giggled, and he took her hand to wipe down next. “What is that you’re using?”

“My shirt, of course,” Alistair said.

“Your- no! Don’t use that!”

“It’s too late,” he said, smirking in the dark. “My mess, my shirt. Those are the rules."

"So does that mean you're going to use my shirt to clean my slick from your palm?"

"Ah, ha," Alistair gave a weak chuckle. "I've found your slick dries better than my come."

"How?"

"If I let this stay on you, it'll render you all scaly and sticky. Believe me, it is not fun to peel off afterwards." Alistair cleared his throat and stopped himself, as if he remembered belatedly just who he was talking to. "Besides, it’s just an undershirt. I don’t have to wear it back, none will be the wiser.”

“Still. It might be a while before we wash it.”

“I realize now I should have aimed away from you,” he said sheepishly.

His hand slowed, the fabric of his shirt falling away, and Alistair leaned over to lay himself entirely along the length of her. His arm snaked its way underneath of her neck, his other hand curving to lay beside her waist up to her ribs, and he nuzzled into the crook of her neck as he brought his hips into contact with her outer thigh.

“Maker, did we really do that?”

Eilwyn brought her hands up to hold him, one arm covering his shoulders as the other slid through his hair. She sighed deeply, at the same time he did, and tangled one of her legs with both of his.

“I think so.”

“You…” Alistair cleared his throat. “You felt amazing.”

“So did you, love.”

“Was it weird, at all?” he asked. “Having me… finish? In your hand?”

“I didn’t notice, to be honest,” Eilwyn said with a shy laugh. She felt him chuckle against her, perhaps out of surprise. “I was already coming, and you were helping me move the right way.”

“I felt you finish on my fingers,” Alistair whispered, like he was recounting it to himself in a post-pleasure daze. “It was very rhythmic, I was surprised.”

Eilwyn laughed again, the noise quiet and sleepy.

“I want to do it by myself next time,” she whispered, resting her cheek against his temple. He yawned against her neck, and nodded.

“I would love to watch you touch yourself, I think.”

“No, I didn't mean- I want to have just my hands on _you_ ,” Eilwyn continued past nervous giggles. “So I can see what you look like, when it happens.”

“Eila,” he groaned, pressing harder onto her body. She hugged him tighter, and then the both of them relaxed once more on the rock.

They would have slept there, Eilwyn was certain of it, if it wasn’t for the barrier around them being a sustained concentration spell.

At the first second she began to doze, the freezing cold of the air and snow flurries plunged the two of them back into reality. With a squeak and a holler, the both of them jumped to gather up their clothes, almost knocking their heads together like some sort of comedic routine. Eilwyn wasn’t sure which of them started laughing first, but the both of them fell quickly into giggles as they struggled to pull their layers back on again. She helped Alistair buckle the leather cuirass back into place, helped him tie his gauntlets, and he in turn helped turn her dress from inside-out as she yanked her leggings back into place about her hips.

It was a good thing they were quick.

By the time Leliana ran up, a torch in hand and a dagger in the other, McWhistle at her side, Eilwyn and Alistair were already climbing down the rock face.

“You two,” Leliana waved the torch. “Are you alright? I heard a scream, I think!”

“Oh,” Eilwyn blushed, and she watched as Alistair unsuccessfully tried to bite back a smile. She shoved his shoulder playfully and turned to her friend. “It was me. I was trying to climb up the waterfall, and I almost slipped. It was scary.”

“So incredibly scary,” Alistair agreed. When Eilwyn glanced over at him, he had the audacity to wink at her in the dark.

“Alright. Well,” Leliana sheathed her dagger. “Be more careful, please. You frightened me. This is not the place to be playing around.”

She turned to go back to camp, and Eilwyn felt a stab of guilt colder than the winter air of the Brecilian. It was a dangerous place they’d chosen to do this. What if they’d been ambushed in the midst of their pawing? It wouldn’t have ended well for anyone.

Before she could think on it further, Alistair gathered her to his chest in a tight embrace. He kissed over her hair and forehead, continuing until she was squealing quietly with laughter and hugging him back. McWhistle bounced around their legs, sniffing and yipping happily, as if this was a game he could join in on.

“What’s that for?” Eilwyn asked when Alistair finally pulled away to look down at her.

“I just…” he shrugged and smiled. “I’m very happy. Happier than I thought I would be after doing something that made me feel so…”

“Good?”

“Defenseless,” he finished quietly.

_ Oh. _

“You felt that too?”

“Of course I did,” Alistair responded. He took her hand in his and they began to walk back along the water’s edge towards where camp rested beyond the curve. “It’s what made it so special, to see you doing the same. To see all of you,” he added, almost to himself.

“I would do it again,” Eilwyn whispered. “In a heartbeat.”

“Were that we had the time to spend together. Truly alone, without threat of interruption,” Alistair said, his voice wistful. He paused, swinging her hand between them. “You’re sure that was okay?”

“Yes,” she said, nodding. She turned to look up at him and smiled. “Do you feel-”

He kissed her, tender and slow, before she could finish her thought. She gave one last moan against his lips, her heart too full and her fingertips too cold. When he pulled away, Alistair wore a satisfied, sleepy grin.

“I most definitely do,” he confirmed. “I feel so, so much with you, Eilwyn. I’m a lucky man, and I won’t forget it.”

The answer satisfied Eilwyn, and she basked in the warmth of their afterglow as they walked hand in hand back towards the camp, snow flurries following gently in their wake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I wrote this to be able to act as an ending chapter, but I might write one more to show you where I intend to write the next part. I want to end this not because I'm done with Eilwyn and Alistair, but because this feels like a good, solid place in their relationship to stop. I know they're in the middle of the Brecilian, but I just feel like they've grown so much.  
> （ノ´д｀ノ。・・。＼´д｀＼） I'm so satisfied I can't even explain to you how nice it felt to write all this out!!!!
> 
> But I won't decide, I'll leave it as unfinished for a week or so while I gauge how I feel. Just know that they aren't done within the relationship and I plan on continuing to explore these two in a separate longfic. Yay!
> 
> EDIT-- Y'all, I'm not gonna end it here. I thought I would, only because I was growing a bit stagnant with the new job, but hell if I didn't get renewed ideas for these two over the last couple of weeks. Thank you to the sweethearts who commented asking me to continue, it means so much!!
> 
> (*･ω･)つ⊂(･ω･*)  
> Stay tuned, cuties! And thank you again, the conversations I got to have with y'all through this fic really made writing it even more fun and gratifying <3


	32. Gnarled Hearts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry to alarm any of you with talk of ending Dignity sooner than planned. I thought about it, and we're going to keep going! Have a wrap-up of the Brecilian, before we get back into Alistair and Eilwyn (ɔ ˘⌣˘)˘⌣˘ c)

The moonlight and snow flurries had lost their romance. Staring up through the crumbling, dilapidated roof of the ruins in the Brecilian, vines overgrowing and retaking the structure, trees almost alive in their crawling mess of veins that wound through the tunnels, Eilwyn thought that they were digging themselves a grave by pushing onward.

Traps were everywhere.

Spiders and specters lay where the traps did not.

There were fascinating historical documents, some places to rest, but Eilwyn could not find comfort in the curiosity. The focus she felt was almost unlike anything else she’d experienced at this point. It reminded her of the concentration she’d employed in order to survive the horrors of the Circle. She had to keep moving, no rest, push forward, continue-

If she stayed in one place too long, or reflected too much, then she risked succumbing to the hopelessness, and there was indeed hopelessness. She'd thought, perhaps stupidly, that the werewolves would have been cognizant enough to speak with her, to reason. But instead, they were past the point of such things, hurting so badly that they wanted only to hurt. The idea of causing them _more_ pain only reminded her of Danyla.

Eilwyn needed to distract with her mission, needed to pay attention to the map they were scrawling on a spare piece of parchment. When Leliana tilted her head at Eilwyn across the way, Eilwyn dared not smile. Instead, she gestured with her chin, ordering her to step ahead and scout. Morrigan and Wynne seemed to agree on the apprehension, or perhaps there was something within their blood that sang out to one another as mages. Eilwyn’s hyperfocus, her sudden solemnity, seemed to seep into the other two women as well. They hung back, standing by Sten and Alistair, as Eilwyn took the forefront. They had been ambushed from behind twice now, corpses reanimating themselves after they had just barely stepped over them. They were taking no chances.

Leliana and Zevran took turns scouting with her, McWhistle weaving expertly back and forth within the party with his nose to the floor and his ears perked. They moved as one group, barely speaking, barely eating, until they reached the heart of the ruins.

When there were moments of calm, Eilwyn noted that Alistair would make his way over to her side, his gaze glassy with fatigue. He would sheathe his weapon near her, and then catch her shoulders underneath of one arm. Quick, as if he didn’t want to draw attention to what he was doing, Alistair would press a kiss to her temple. He would then pull away and try to catch her eyes.

Some of the time, when their gazes met, they’d both erupt into weary smiles. However, for the most part, when they had to tend to their injured or recuperate quickly, they would both merely nod to reassure one another of a mutual focus between them.

In the absence of snow flurries and beautiful moments, Eilwyn clung to those long blinks, those tired smiles.

It had to be enough, until they were done.

* * *

It came as an exhausting surprise when they were stopped by a group of werewolves. Immediately, Eilwyn and Wynne lowered their stance as hands flew high to the ceiling, barriers sprouting up around their party even as the werewolf gatekeeper spoke up.

“Stop!” he snarled. “Brothers and sisters! Be at ease!”

Leliana’s bowstring drew taught by Eilwyn’s side, the sound of her nocking an arrow and pulling it back flush to her cheek seemingly drawing the gatekeeper’s attention. The wolf glanced towards her and Eilwyn both, then lowered his voice.

“We do not wish anymore of our people hurt.”

Eilwyn’s brow furrowed, and she felt a scoff escape her. Lowering her barrier preemptively, her concentration that thin, she took a step forward across the lichen-covered stone floor.

“I never wished it either!” she protested. “I have only ever wanted to-”

“I ask you this now, outsider,” the gatekeeper growled.

Eilwyn shut her mouth, endeavoring to look more in control of herself than she felt. She forced her hands to relax, and heard a shield behind her click as Alistair most likely readjusted it across his forearm.

“I am listening.”

“Are you still willing to parley,” he rumbled, “even given all that you have witnessed? All that you have done?”

Eilwyn closed her eyes, trying to retain her sense of resolution.

_They’re frightened._

_They all are._

_Maybe not outwardly, but they are at their core, I can feel it._

Upon opening her eyes, she took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. Stepping forward once more, to where the gatekeeper’s breath was rank and hot upon her face, Eilwyn nodded.

“We are talking now, are we not?” she posited. “So talk.”

“Not with me,” the werewolf snapped, strange snorts punctuating his words. As if he was barely holding himself in the Common tongue. “I come on behalf of the Lady.”

“The… Lady?”

“She believes that you may not be aware of everything you should be,” he said.

“That,” Eilwyn cleared her throat, then smoothed the front of her robes. “That is entirely possible. It would not be the first time information has been withheld from us.”

The werewolf regarded her down his snout, his eyes gleaming with mistrust. Eilwyn matched him with a stern gaze of her own.

“It would also not be the first time we were led astray under the guise of companionship,” she warned, her voice small but firm.

The werewolf’s snout wrinkled as his lips pulled back in a sneer, revealing his sharp fangs.

“She means you no harm,” he said, his voice gentler than his teeth would have led Eilwyn to believe his tone of voice could be. “Provided your willingness to parley in peace is an honest one.”

“It is,” Eilwyn said, looking up at the wolf through her lashes.

This was not a Templar to be outsmarted.

This was a beast, capable of ripping her to shreds in an instant, with the mere clench of its jaw or swipe of its meaty paw.

And yet Eilwyn tried to relax, if not for her own sake, at least for the wolves’ and her companions. She had the strangest sense that everyone was holding the same tension she was, that they were ready to spring only because she was coiled tight. Taking in a deep breath, she let it out and relaxed her shoulders.

Behind her, she could hear Wynne’s barrier disperse, and Leliana tucked her arrow back into its quiver. She heard a faint swear from Zevran, further behind, back where she knew she’d left Sten standing earlier. At her side, McWhistle gave a faint whine, and she saw the werewolf’s ears twitch downward momentarily.

Eilwyn’s heart skipped within her chest, an alarm bell flaring momentarily.

“Give me your word that my companions will not be harmed, no matter what happens,” she whispered.

The werewolf’s eyes caught hers once more, flinted with suspicion.

“Just your companions?”

“Yes,” Eilwyn said. “If you trust me with the safety of your Lady, I trust you with mine. But I need your word in regards to my companions.”

“You would trust the word of a werewolf?”

His tone was mocking, and she felt stupid, but Eilwyn dared not lie. She nodded slowly.

“If you will give it.”

Snarling once more, his brethren giving impatient grunts of their own from behind him, the werewolf’s nostrils flared as he inhaled deep. When he snuffled out a sigh, Eilwyn half-expected him to pounce upon her, taking advantage of her vulnerability. She barely withheld an outward flinch.

But the werewolf merely bowed his head.

“You have my word.”

When he raised himself to his full height above her, Eilwyn tried to do the same by squaring her shoulders. It ached to do so; sleeping on the cold stone tiles would do that to a person, she supposed. Still, the beast before her seemed to at least approve of that much.

Grimacing at the unease she felt stirring in her gut, Eilwyn gestured forward.

“To your Lady, then.”

“Follow me,” the werewolf said.

As they walked, their party falling in line with the group of wolves escorting them, the gatekeeper lowered himself back to Eilwyn’s level.

“I must warn you,” he growled, low enough to send the urge to flee shooting through Eilwyn’s spine. “You seem to know the threats that await you should you break your promise and harm the Lady. But I promise you this, as well.” His lip curled. “I will chase you into the Fade itself to see you pay should you raise your magic against her.”

“We understand one another perfectly,” Eilwyn answered, tilting her head in what she hoped was a dignified and noble manner. "For I will do the same if you lash out at any of my companions."

Her voice had not cracked, as she feared it would, and she had not gagged at the rancid smell of old deer wafting from the wolf’s maw. With a snuffle of hot, rancid breath on her cheek, the werewolf seemed satisfied. He turned to face the tunnel once more, and they spoke not another word.

* * *

They came to an antechamber of sorts, the acoustics of the tall ceilings reverberating off the snarls and rumbles of the werewolves’ anger as they lashed out at the group of strangers. Zevran walked up to Eilwyn’s side, pulling Leliana back for a moment. The werewolf who was leading them flicked his ears in his direction, but otherwise did not turn.

“Little dove,” Zevran whispered. “You know what you are doing?”

“I am perfectly aware,” Eilwyn answered, attempting to keep her tone light and calm. “I am meeting with the Lady. We are to do her no harm.”

“But-”

The werewolf turned to Zevran with a flash of fury in his eyes, and Eilwyn put out a hand between them.

“No buts,” she said, pausing in her stride so that Zevran unintentionally walked his chest up into her palm. He stopped as she did, their eyes meeting. “Trust me,” Eilwyn whispered. “I’ll protect you.”

Zevran shook his head, looking as if he was torn between laughing at such a remark and giving her a decidedly venomous piece of his mind. The effect was a kind of wry smile plastered disingenuous across his lips.

“As you wish, Grey Warden,” he drawled, falling back into line.

Eilwyn turned, barely dodging out of the way as a slash of claws came dangerously close to shredding her robe sleeve.

“Hey!” she yelped, and before anyone at her side could draw a weapon, the werewolf leading them stepped in front of her. His maw of a mouth opened, letting out a roar of his own.

“They are here at the Lady’s behest!” he cried. “Stand down!”

The other wolf, the one who’d lashed out, ducked his shoulders low and backed himself further against the wall. When he was satisfied that the attacker would be no more trouble, the lead werewolf began to march forward once more, loping low to the ground so that he could press his knuckles to the stone and dirt as he walked.

Eilwyn tried to catch his eye, adrenaline and gratitude coursing through her veins, but he would not look her direction. Instead, he was focused on a type of dais overgrown with vines, standing in the center of the room just before several root structures. It seemed as if trees had taken over the chamber, with fluttering leaves falling lambently around them as they walked forward.

“Stop,” the lead werewolf said gently, turning to Eilwyn over his shoulder. “Wait.”

She obeyed, and bid her party do the same, motioning with a quick wide-eyed grimace for Alistair to sheathe his sword.

He gave her a look that said he didn’t particularly want to, but at her furrowed brow and resolute pout, he gave up. With a slick metallic ring and a clack, his sword was sheathed in its scabbard. Still, he refused to place his shield on his back, seemingly preferring it up and at the ready should any sneak attacks come.

Eilwyn could not fault him that.

Just as she turned away from him, focusing back on the dais, she noticed that the werewolves were agitated. Even talking to one another, growling back and forth, seemingly uncontrollable in their fervor to intimidate the interlopers. Eilwyn flinched at the noises, her hands flying up to prepare a barrier about her person when even the leader joined in.

_What have I done?_

_Is there even a-_

Before her thoughts could fully form within her mind, there came a hush about the chamber.

One by one, the wolves hung their heads in semblance of a bow, taking knees as a woman wove through their ranks towards the werewolf who’d led them there. And who could blame them their pious response? Merely to behold her cause Eilwyn's mouth to dry up, her vision tunneling momentarily as she took in the apparition gliding forward from seemingly out of nowhere.

The Lady was beautiful. At her touch, the beasts stood down, seemingly calmed, and Eilwyn saw a kindred familiarity in their cowed nature. She could feel it too, the soothing nature radiating from the woman before her. Pettily, Eilwyn too longed to be able to soothe in such a manner, to expertly and confidently quench the flames of dread and panic in those around her. The look the werewolves wore as they sank to their knees before this woman of leaves and mist was a look of reverence and piety.

_I must have looked like that during prayers._

_Kneeling before Andraste._

Eilwyn moved forward, unable to even shut her mouth for awe. The woman’s eyes were what betrayed her, all brown with no whites to speak of, dark muddied pools that swallowed and enticed. Eilwyn stopped when her feet reached the bottom step of the dais, and she resisted taking a knee herself.

“You are…” Eilwyn shook her head, blinking past the words she hadn’t meant to let escape.

What had she meant to finish it with?

Beautiful would work, but it felt pedantic in this light.

Frightening seemed harsh, although it too would suffice even though the context was wrong.

Unreal was the best descriptor she had, and it had the unintended nuance of calling her false.

No.

The Lady was more than that. She held dark magic that hummed about Eilwyn’s aura, as unseen static brightens the air before a storm. Eilwyn forced her mouth shut, her teeth clicking from the impact, and gave a restrained curtsy.

“I bid you welcome, mortal,” the Lady said.

Eilwyn glanced up, brushing her hair back from her face with one palm as she struggled to look dignified while covered in thrall guts and dirt. The woman before her had a voice of clear authority, pleasant even as it echoed lightly back from the walls of the chamber.

Or was that echo only in the back of her mind?

“Greetings,” Eilwyn managed to say.

The woman blinked, her expression unreadable.

“I am the Lady of the Forest,” she said softly, as if to reinforce that Eilwyn and her party had not been lied to. “You may approach.”

Eilwyn did as she was bidden, walking up to the woman who seemed to be somehow underwater even as she was standing before them. Her legs were covered in twiggy tendrils, her hair flowing dark and long over her breasts. Her fingers were too long, her eyes inky and more black than they seemed from afar, and Eilwyn shuddered in a way she hoped was invisible to her host.

“I trust you know why I'm here,” she said carefully. “I come on behalf of the-”

“Do not listen to her, Lady,” the beast at the Lady’s side growled. “She will betray you!”

_The one who attacked us earlier._

_Swiftrunner._

“We must attack her now,” he finished, sounding as if he already knew what the Lady’s response to such an entreatment would be.

Eilwyn turned to him, blinking past the cold grip of fear that threatened to curve her body inward in a tight flinch, and tried to catch his gaze. It was crazed, yellowed, and his lips curled even as he met her eyes and held them. She swallowed inadvertently, but made a point of lowering her hands to her side rather than wringing them before herself in obvious uncertainty.

She meant to say something, to contradict him, or to perhaps threaten him right back, but she never got the chance.

“Hush, Swiftrunner,” the Lady said. “Your urge for battle has only seen the death of the very ones you’ve been trying to save. Is that what you want?”

That last whisper, it echoed in a hiss that the Lady’s voice didn’t contain. An insidious thing, like the words in the back of one’s own mind, Eilwyn blinked harder at the soft blame it contained. It was indiscernible from her own thoughts, this ghost of a voice trailing before and behind when the woman spoke.

It was not a physical echo, not at all.

Swiftrunner had kept Eilwyn’s eye through the few seconds until that accusation, but at the whisper he squared his shoulder and raised his head to his mistress instead.

“No, my Lady.” He sighed, or rather, Eilwyn approximated it as a sigh. It was a growl, to be honest, but the look in his eyes made it seem a mournful one. “Anything but that,” he finished.

“Then the time has come to speak with this outsider, to set our rage aside.”

_Our?_

_What does she have to be angry about?_

The Lady turned to Eilwyn, her elongated fingers moving as if she was treading in a pool of water as she moved.

“I apologize on Swiftrunner’s behalf," the Lady said. "He struggles with his nature.”

Eilwyn could not help but frown at the wolf as he took a step back, his head hanging in shame.

“As do we all, Lady,” she answered. Behind her, she could hear someone give a soft scoff of agreement, and she wondered if it had come from Zevran or Leliana.

“Truer words were never spoken,” the Lady said, and her voice sounded less lofty, somehow as if she too shared the same idea. It lessened the tension, allowing Eilwyn to relax further, and once more somehow doing the same for her followers.

_When did that happen?_

_When did they begin to look to me for when to breathe?_

“But few could claim the same as these creatures,” the Lady continued, catching Eilwyn a bit off guard. “That their very nature is a curse forced upon them. No doubt you have questions, mortal. There are things that Zathrian has not told you.

Eilwyn narrowed her eyes, taking another small step forward. This time, the wolves did not tense.

“How do you know what he has and hasn’t told me?” she asked quietly.

The Lady shook her head, the muscles along her jaw tightening for one brief moment.

“Because there are things he would not tell. Things that you should decide for yourself if you need to know.”

Eilwyn inhaled deeply, sensing that whatever was to come was not going to make any of this easier.

“I don't know if I deserve to hear it,” she answered on the exhale. “But I want to know everything, if you will tell it, Lady.”

“Ask, then,” the Lady answered, looking relieved in a way as her voice bounced around Eilwyn’s mind, “and I shall provide you with answers.”

* * *

It hurt, almost physically, to know of the rage that it had taken not only to create the werewolves, but to watch them suffer and ignore their pain. It hurt something deep within Eilwyn’s chest, underneath of where her stomach bulged if she ate too much, beneath her ribs where her muscles spasmed if and when she ran too hard, something deeper and tighter and smaller.

Eilwyn had sat on the steps of the dais, listening to Swiftrunner and the Lady detailing the horrors that had befallen Zathrian’s children. The horror of it had brought her to her knees, and the Lady had sunken to the ground with her. She’d reached her branch-like appendages outward, and Eilwyn had placed her fingers into the forest spirit’s palms. She could hear her party’s collective gasp behind her, though she wasn’t sure whether it was in relation to the story that had been told, or the way that Swiftrunner, too, crouched beside the two women.

_Zathrian's children._

_Those humans... what they did..._

_Beyond uncalled for._

_Abhorrent._

Eilwyn could barely imagine it. She had seen terrible things, had watched human depravity press the boundaries of reality, and strangely enough in the name of good to boot. In hearing of Zathrian's retaliation, she couldn't help but wonder if intention mattered here, more than the outcome. One could argue that even the worst of deeds, if well-intended, could therefore be blameless. Surely the werewolves could see how the curse was borne of the need to grieve, to avenge, surely they could not hate as deeply as they seemed to?

One could argue, too, that punishment for such a crime as Zathrian's children had suffered... a fitting punishment would be one that was endless and extended, to further dissuade such cruelty from existing in the world.

But in that sphere, even though Eilwyn's instinct lay in agreement with the Dalish Keeper, she couldn't help but ask herself questions. Such as, when was the punishment enough? When did the hurt heal over, and was healing the same as forgetting?

Is mercy something that should be easy, or is the difficult act of giving it what makes it, by definition, mercy?

_He lost a daughter and son._

_One was taken, the other chose to leave._

_I cannot imagine._

Her chest clenching in pain, Eilwyn wasn’t sure how to feel other than sorry. For everyone. For the elves, for Zathrian, for the humans who had been infected, and most of all for the girl who’d felt so trapped with a child she didn’t want that she’d taken her own life to be rid of the shame of it. Eilwyn screwed her eyes shut against the imagery, against the thought of being forced to carry a reminder of such a graphic violation for the better part of a year. To be sick with it. To have never wanted it.

“I don’t know what I would have done in that situation,” she whispered to herself. With her brow furrowed so tight it had given her a twinge of a headache, Eilwyn had looked up at the werewolf towering over her. “I don’t think I would have done that.”

“I pray you are never in a position where you must find out,” the Lady replied.

Swiftrunner glanced away, his gaze perturbed.

In her opinion, the rapists had gotten what they’d deserved. The beasts before her, the ones that existed now, were remnants of that. They were related to the cause of the hurt, not the cause itself.

Did that not warrant helping them, then?

_“If you want to help, you’ll kill them all.”_

As the Lady had detailed the rest of their plight with regret lacing her voice, Eilwyn was starkly and irrevocably reminded of Cullen's last words to her. It was an absurd connection, to be sure, but she could not shake it. The way he’d looked up at her, desperation in his eyes, and told her to kill the rest of the mages to prevent more suffering… had that been how Zathrian had felt when he'd sent Eilwyn to collect Witherfang's heart?

Had Zathrian, too, felt trapped?

Protective?

Overcome by grief?

Eilwyn felt the hurt within her bloom at that, prickles of its petals dancing about her heart and squeezing until she felt it race with anxiety on their behalf.

With that thought in mind, she agreed to speak with the Dalish leader, and return with him alone. How it would end, she had no idea, but when she nodded her acquiescence, the Lady helped her stand once more.

“I’m sorry,” Eilwyn said. She turned to both the forest spirit, and then to the wolves around her. “For all of this.”

“Then make this right, mortal,” the Lady whispered, “because I am afraid that your pity, while noble, is quite useless.”

With that bitter taste leftover on her tongue, and the clutch of misery still insistent within her chest, Eilwyn nodded and left. She led her party from the chamber, back the way they’d come, their steps long and deliberate. The only sounds that echoed back to them once they left the Lady’s presence were the clinks and thuds of their armor and weapons shifting as they walked; it seemed everyone had been robbed of their words in the wake of such a story.

When they reached the opening in the lower ruins, right before the steps Eilwyn knew would take her back to the forest beyond, the sound of someone’s voice actually startled Eilwyn into flinching a half barrier about her torso.

“Ah. And here you are already.”

“Zathrian?” Eilwyn lowered her hands, struggling not to register the doubt on her face as she did so. “How did you get here?”

“You’ve carved a safe path through the forest,” the elf said, rising up from where he was kneeling over one of the beasts’ corpses. Just looking at it made Eilwyn feel ill.

_It could have been avoided._

Morrigan’s laugh cut through Eilwyn’s blindsided surprise. She stepped up, her hand on Eilwyn’s elbow for the briefest moment.

“He wishes to see if we have done his work for him," Morrigan said, shaking her head in derision. "Is that not why you’re here now, sorcerer?”

Eilwyn turned in time to catch Alistair’s gaze. He was making a face, as if he was unhappy to be in agreement with Morrigan, of all people.

“Do not call me that, witch,” Zathrian snapped. The chill in his voice was almost as big of a surprise as his appearance. He pointed a finger at Morrigan, accusation just barely contained. “I am the Keeper of this clan, and have done what I must.”

Behind her, Eilwyn heard Zevran sigh, as if he was bored with the conversation. It seemed uncharacteristic of him, and Eilwyn thought maybe she was misinterpreting. Maybe Zevran was bored of the pretense, of the lies that Zathrian cloaked himself in to ignore the suffering he’d inflicted. She caught the elf's eye, and saw fatigue resting there.

_He's getting worse._

_Zev._

_I need to-_

“Do you have the heart?”

Zathrian's voice cut Eilwyn from the moment she didn't realize she was sharing with her assassin, and she blinked rapidly to regain a look of grave earnestness instead of friendly concern.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Leliana answered.

Blinking, Eilwyn realized she couldn’t have said anything better.

“We don’t have it,” she said to further illustrate the point. "I know this isn't what you asked of us initially, Zathrian, but I can explain."

Zathrian’s eyes narrowed further.

“And why do you not have it, hmm?”

“As I said, we must speak, Zathrian,” Eilwyn murmured, endeavoring to keep her voice low and reassuring.

She shouldn’t have bothered. As she took a step forward, Zathrian took one back.

“So. The Lady of the Forest has somehow manipulated you into doing her bidding. And here I thought a mage, of all people, would be smarter than to listen to such a creature.”

Morrigan, once more, gave a laugh. This time, Zathrian did not even spare her a glance. Instead, he glared at Eilwyn, his blood-writing stark against his pale skin, his eyes reading betrayal even though he was the one who’d withheld his involvement. He curled his lip.

“What did she say to you?” he demanded, and Eilwyn could feel the crackle of mana pooling in his general vicinity. She heard Alistair adjust his shield, heard a dagger unsheathe, and adrenaline began to pump through her core in anticipation.

But Zathrian did not attack.

Not yet.

Eilwyn looked him over, taking advantage of his... what? His hesitation? His unwillingness to cast the first blow? Regardless, Zathrian was still, affording her a decent look at the man as he truly was, not the refined Keeper image he built about himself at the Dalish camp. Zathrian was tense, as the wolves had been, so prepared to hurt in retaliation, so angry and righteous and obviously suffering still. His hands were clenching and unclenching at his sides, his body held so straight he seemed to barely be holding his chin down in order to look Eilwyn in the eye.

There was a jolt of uneasy hope that surged through her at the revelation.

She'd calmed the werewolves.

She could calm Zathrian, surely.

_I saved Connor, I saved my first Enchanter, so it stands to reason that I can save his people and the wolves._

_Can’t I?_

Eilwyn squared her own shoulders, taking a definitive step forward once more.

“Zathrian,” she said carefully. “You are not my enemy. If we are to talk, we must truly and honestly talk. Without feeling threatened.” Eilwyn glanced down at his hands, then held out her own, palms up. With her eardrums popping as when descending from a great height, she released her own preemptive barrier and kept her eyes resolutely on his. “Can you do that?”

The elf glared at her, and for one moment she worried she’d overstepped. She’d misjudged him, thought his compassion reserve yet untapped when it might have been empty. All of the doubts that passed over her as she watched impotent anger flash fleeting over his features, she kept them at bay.

And it was a good thing she did. After she did not back down, Zathrian inhaled deeply and brought his hands up to rub across his own face. He sighed through his fingers, sounding exhausted and frustrated and old all in one ragged breath.

“Alright,” he said, dropping his own spell away from himself.

He looked at her, and she could still see a burning, deep hatred in his eyes, one that she realized starkly she might not be able to extract. Zathrian rolled his neck and raised an eyebrow.

“Tell me what she told you. Please.”

“Of course,” Eilwyn whispered, seeking to see this as progress. If he was open to speaking to her, if he could trust her, then maybe this could end well. For everyone.

_I can do this._

* * *

It happened quickly, quicker than Eilwyn knew how to counterbalance or deescalate. For all that she’d done in the way of lowering tension, she seemed to be at a loss when confronted with centuries of cultivated hatred and grief.

She’d thought they were going to talk, and for a moment it seemed as if they might. She'd led the elf back to the antechamber where she had left the Lady of the Forest and the werewolves all, but he had walked as if he'd known how to get there himself all along. Almost surpassing her in stride. Not ever sparing her a glance. And for a moment, when they confronted one another, they did talk.

But then Swiftrunner had panicked, bloodthirsty and protective, and then Zathrian had turned to EIlwyn, ordered her as a Grey Warden to pluck the heart from the Lady’s chest, and she’d stared at him mouth agape.

“I can’t hurt them, Zathrian, they have suffered enough,” she’d blurted, before thinking of how he could have interpreted it. “Please, see reason! They speak of killing only because they are afraid, they’re-”

“ _They?_ ” Zathrian had mocked. “ _They_ hurt? You know not of what you speak, shem. You know nothing of loss, or pain, or grief-”

“Do not talk to her that way,” Alistair had said, stepping up to Eilwyn’s side with his shield already buckled to his forearm. “We’re standing for what’s right here, on Eilwyn's command, and I won't stand for you belittling her efforts.”

“Then you'll die with them!" Zathrian had spat. "All of you will suffer as you deserve!”

The chamber had then devolved into growls, groans, and the creaks of animated sylvans. The trees had come to life, their branches crunching and leaves cascading down around them as Eilwyn’s friends had moved immediately to the werewolves’ sides.

It had been a strange, disorienting picture to see.

Sten had leapt to Swiftrunner’s side, embedding his axe deep into the bark of a sylvan just to their right as the werewolf tore into the tree with his claws. Morrigan had shifted into a wolf herself, running alongside of the pack members as they went for Zathrian. Eilwyn had acted impulsively, casting a barrier up about herself and the Lady even as the latter shifted into Witherfang’s form to lunge for Zathrian, but even so it protected all three from Zathrian’s first burst of flames.

The fighting had been explosive, but unsustainable, much as fury itself was. With everyone banding together, Zathrian was no match even in his powerful state.

He finally succumbed, crying out and asking for mercy.

“No, no more,” he cried out, and Eilwyn shouted above the cacophony.

“Stop!”

“I cannot defeat you,” Zathrian whispered, his words punctuated by grunts of pain. "Please."

Her friends fell in line, Morrigan reverting back to her human form, Alistair kicking backwards from the sylvan he’d just felled, and Wynne stepping to stand behind her with a barrier halfway erected. Zevran looked back at her once, only once, a question written on his features, and Eilwyn held up her hand.

Immediately, the elf moved forward as he had earlier, so that his shoulder found her palm, so that Eilwyn was holding him physically back, and only then did his facial expression relax. He sheathed his knives, and turned his attention to where Zathrian was kneeling before the Lady. It burned within Eilwyn, this strange comfort that Zevran seemed to be seeking from her in this place, of all places.

_Maybe... I'm more like the Lady than I realized._

"Let me end him quickly, little dove," Zevran whispered, his words dark despite the appellation he used. He caught her gaze, narrowing his eyes. "I can end his suffering, you know this."

"I know," Eilwyn whispered back, her words barely audible in their speed. "And you know I would let you, if it were that simple. But he has to be the one to choose."

Sighing deeply, Zevran muttered a curse underneath of his breath as Eilwyn shook him gently by the shoulder. They were interrupted by a loud growl, and Eilwyn flinched hard at the noise.

“Your elf is right! Do not hold him back, you must finish him,” Swiftrunner demanded. “Kill him now!”

“No!” Leliana screamed. Eilwyn reached out to place her other hand on Leliana’s collar, and she got the sense it was only just in time. She could feel her friend ready to lunge forward and place herself between the wolves and the kneeling elf. “Don’t kill him,” Leliana begged, turning to Eilwyn and the Lady of the forest. “Please, Lady, stop him!”

“No, Swiftrunner,” the Lady said, holding her hand out. “If there is no room in our hearts for mercy, how can we expect there to be room in his?”

“I cannot do as you ask, spirit,” Zathrian gasped. Eilwyn thought, at first, it was from his wounds, but then a sob wracked through his body. “I am too old… to know mercy.”

He looked up at them, his eyes blurry with tears and his brow furrowed with ire, and as the Lady stepped forward so too did Eilwyn.

“All I see,” Zathrian whispered, “are the faces of my children…” tears flowed freely at this point, rolling fat and continuously down his cheeks. Still, his face was not colored with regret. Instead, he still seemed so angry, consumed by it, fire alight in his breast to the point where his physical pain seemed only secondary to it. “My people. I… I cannot do it.”

“Hasn’t this gone on long enough, Zathrian?” Eilwyn asked. Her voice came thicker than she meant it to, and she realized she was crying as well. She held out both of her hands to him, crouching down so that he would see it as a gesture for him to take them.

He stared at her, suspicious. Eilwyn sniffled and blinked her eyes free of tears, but she did not withdraw her hands.

“I don’t have any children,” she whispered. “But I remember my mother. My father. I… I would have given anything for them to love me even half as much as you obviously love your son and daughter.”

Something shifted in Zathrian, then. Perhaps it was the honest insight she’d given, or maybe it was the fact that she seemed to want to help him for her own reasons. Eilwyn wasn’t sure. But whatever his reason, Zathrian seemed to calm as he looked upon her. Slowly, he reached out and took both of her hands, rising to his feet as they both stared one another down. His face no longer read as seething hatred, but something more inward. Something mournful, at last.

“Those afflicted now,” Eilwyn murmured, sniffling past the tears to try to gain some credibility in her words, “those humans that were bitten later, who suffered for the wrongs their ancestors committed… did they not have parents, too? Fathers who mourned their losses, who waited for them to come home every day, never knowing what had become of them?”

Behind her, she heard a wolf yip, as if a howl was withheld.

Zathrian closed his eyes against the image, his fingers tightening in hers. More tears fell, finally flowing freely once more after all these years.

“You are not betraying them, or letting them go, by allowing your anger to ebb,” Eilwyn whispered. “You have avenged their deaths. But vengeance does not make you miss someone less. You’ll always, always miss the ones you love who leave you. And that is not weakness. You are not weak to _let it go._ ”

He seemed taken aback at such a thing, and for one moment Eilwyn wondered if she'd gone too far. But then, the elf before her shook his head.

“For one so young,” Zathrian bit out, “you seem to know more of pain and loss than I expected.”

He opened his eyes, and Eilwyn squeezed his fingers.

“Less, perhaps, than you’ve held onto. Than the pain you’ve chosen to keep reliving.” She sniffled thickly. “It’s time to let go, Zathrian. For your sake, as much as theirs.”

“Perhaps I have… lived too long,” he conceded. He took his hands from hers, but then reached up to clasp her shoulder. He leaned on her briefly, then took a staggering step back. “This hatred in me is like an ancient, gnarled root,” he said. Eilwyn watched as he blinked up at the ceiling of the chamber high above them. “It has consumed my soul.”

Eilwyn brought her hands up to swipe at her face, and she felt a hand at the small of her back. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw that Alistair had stepped up to take his place at her side, one hand out to support her. Without thinking, she leaned into his side, letting her head fall against his leather pauldron for a moment as Zathrian turned to the spirit beyond her.

“What of you, spirit?” he asked. “You are bound to the curse just as I am. Do you not fear your end?”

“You are my maker, Zathrian,” she said, her voice containing relief and exhaustion beyond measure, as if she had worried she would never be given the chance to say these very words in her lifetime. “You gave me form and consciousness where none existed. I have known pain and love, hope and fear, all the joy that is life. Yet of all things, I desire nothing more than an end.”

Eilwyn looked to the Lady, the last note of her words carrying a haunting pleading that even Zathrian could not ignore.

_She belongs to the Fade._

_She sounds so tired._

“I beg you, maker,” the Lady implored. “Put an end to me.”

_Maker._

_Almost like a prayer, that._

The Lady of the Forest stepped forward to Zathrian, holding out a hand as Swiftrunner instinctively went to move with her. Her twiglike appendages tangled in the fur of the beast's chest, and Swiftrunner's eyes slanted in baleful torment.

“ _We_ beg you,” she corrected, glancing up to Swiftrunner’s face before turning back to the Keeper. “Show mercy.”

Zathrian fell to his knees, and for a moment everyone crowded around him in a quick lunge. The werewolves moved as if fearful he would conjure something sinister, but Eilwyn and Alistair moved to help him. They realized there was no need, however, when Zathrian let out a ragged breath.

“You shame me, spirit,” he confessed, his voice low. Glancing up to those around him, he caught Eilwyn’s eye. “You both do.”

Eilwyn swallowed, bringing a hand up to cover her mouth as she realized what he was about to do. Her tears came harder now, welling from the pain that had caught thorny in her chest earlier, its clutches finally releasing their hold on her heart.

“I am an old man,” Zathrian continued. “Alive long past his time.”

“Then you will do it?” the Lady asked, excitement in her voice. “You will end the curse?”

“Yes,” Zathrian answered. He began to rise, and even though Alistair offered his arm to assist him, refused all help as he stood. Turning to face the Lady, he squared his shoulders and brushed the tears from his cheeks. “I think it is time. Let us…” he paused to swallow, making a sound that was audible even from where Eilwyn stood. When he spoke, however, there was no trace of fear or turmoil. Only exhaustion and acceptance.

“Let us put an end to it all.”

As the werewolves crowded around in a semicircle, Eilwyn and Alistair were pushed backwards. She could see the Lady reach for Swiftrunner, could see him nuzzle gently against her shoulder, and then nothing past the wall of furred, hulking figures. Alistair caught her as they moved, holding her to his chest, and Eilwyn heard a staff connect sharply with the stone floor. A light flashed about them, a blurry warm glow, and then there was a soft thud as Zathrian collapsed.

The wolves parted to allow for his body to fall, and Eilwyn could see Swiftrunner placing both hands on the shoulders of his Lady before her body began to dematerialize. As she began to fade, Eilwyn caught her gaze one last time, and in it there was such peace. Darkly, Eilwyn's lips parted, and she felt a tangible wish flit across her mind.

_When I die, I hope it's this peaceful._

_Sacrifice._

_She did not ask for this, but she did it regardless._

With a glimmering burst of light, the Lady was gone, her light touching each and every one of the beasts as her existence faded from their world. Eilwyn felt a similar depressurization, an emptiness in the seat of her soul, and she glanced down to where Zathrian lay in a crumpled heap at the stone.

People’s voices filled the chamber as the beasts around them began to turn, but Eilwyn could not face them. She buried her face in Alistair’s neck, both of her arms tight about his waist, and cried.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Too many feels in the forest. And several time-hops! We'll pick it up soon, with now two Grey Warden treaties in hand, once Eilwyn's had a minute to recover ^^


	33. Forward Into Winter

The long trudge out past the Dalish camp was made all the more difficult through the snow that now was beginning to accumulate. Eilwyn hissed every time her toes sank deep into a slush puddle, to the point where her friends no longer asked if she was alright; Wynne, at Eilwyn’s insistence, had a sustained barrier about her person in order to protect against the bite of the wind; Zevran looked as if he had commandeered at least three cloaks that had not previously belonged to him.

Everyone was miserable, even if none wanted to break the contemplative silence to complain. With the second Grey Warden treaties in hand, they left the Dalish land ships behind, and pressed on despite the weather.

The pathway was treacherous where it had once been merely strenuous. Now, instead of just branches curving inward towards where they walked, there was the threat of icicles. Puddles of frost and water, the biting nip of wind against their faces, they all combined with the chill of what had transpired in the forest in order to create an atmosphere of barely sustained endurance.

The entire group seemed to be chapped and frozen, but none more so than Eilwyn. This was her first taste of real winter, that was what she kept telling herself. First real winter, outdoors, instead of cozy up by the fireplace with mulled wine boiling in the corner and the smell of clove-riddled oranges lining the library walls.

_ Andraste’s flaming tits, I want to be back in the library. _

It was a sentiment that was hard to ignore. She’d grown accustomed to enduring over the past several months, to being uncomfortable, but the cold on top of it was a new difficulty. After a couple of hours trudging through the endless white, the world about her only grew darker and darker and the snow seemed to fall heavier and faster.

Eilwyn let out a desperate, loud groan when the wind whipped through her hair and smacked her braid hard into one of her eyes. The growl seemed to surprise Leliana as they huddled together to scout up ahead.

“Are you alright?” Leliana called over the wind.

“As alright as I’ll ever be in this blighted cold,” Eilwyn answered, shivering so hard her tongue felt twice too thick for her mouth. Her words were barely audible over the wind anyway. Instead of talking further, she tossed hand-warming runes to her companions. They were handy little objects, given to her by an excited Sandal earlier in the month, but they were quickly extinguished, so brutal was the wind.

“We have to make camp,” she finally shouted, the snow swirling about her as the sun set. Rather, she assumed the sun set; it was hard to tell, the world was just getting a darker gray around her. Eilwyn glanced around, then for lack of anything else to say, shouted, “We can’t outwalk this snowstorm.”

“You don’t think so?” Alistair shouted back, but not even his playful smile could break Eilwyn of her dull annoyance. She shot him a tired look and turned to Sten.

“Are you alright?”

“Do not waste concern on me, Warden,” he called over a particularly nasty gust of wind. “You look half-frozen.”

She would have replied, had the wind not brought Eilwyn’s arms tighter about her stomach, and she ducked forward in order to fold herself against the elements. Glancing back up once the air switched directions, she looked up in time to see Sten moving to her side.

“You are too small and ill-equipped to be in the forest in winter,” Sten stated loudly, loud enough for the words to carry over the breeze but also to carry to the rest of her party.

Indeed, looking around, everyone else seemed to be wearing their winter gear that they’d bought in Denerim. Leliana had long sleeves, elegant gloves and layers of scarves, as well as leggings that folded thick underneath of winter boots. Wynne had robes lined with what looked like fur, as well as a cloak made of the same material the tent fabric was.

Eilwyn cursed under her breath. Back when she’d had the opportunity to get such robes, she had instead focused on getting double layers of waterproof canvas. And then she'd focused on the whole debacle with Goldanna. She’d neglected to get herself new clothes, and had barely gotten herself magical components. She would’ve been out of those too, had Morrigan not run her errands for her. Her cloak was even borrowed, with Wynne’s layered over top of Eilwyn’s summer one, both garments tucked over her robes with mail that was already rusting from autumn rain.

_ I can’t afford to be this stupid. _

_ I can’t let the winter take me out. _

_ Wouldn’t that be a humiliating way to die? _

_ Frozen to death before I can even face the Archdemon? _

It wasn’t as if this was a new development either. Eilwyn had noticed days prior that even Morrigan had long-sleeve garments pulled over her person, scrambled together with cowls pulled high so that only her eyes were visible through the blinding whites and grays of winter snowfall.

_ No excuses. _

_ Push forward. _

Eilwyn looked back up at Sten, her eyelashes gluing together with snowflakes, and gave a pitiful nod.

“I messed up,” she shouted, or tried to.

Before she could speak, Sten had begun wrapping her in the cloak she’d initially insisted he wear. Pulling it up and over her head, protecting her ears, she sputtered as Sten pushed her forward off the path.

“This way,” the Qunari yelled to the others. “There is a deer run. We can carve out a spot, out of the wind, and weather the storm.”

“Will our tents be enough?” Leliana cried out over the rush of another incoming gust.

“They will have to be,” Wynne chimed in. “Quickly, before it worsens.”

Huddled tightly together, everyone began to make their way west off of the path from the forest. The wind pulled at them, as if insistent that they could not leave, and Eilwyn felt a strange tickle in the back of her mind.

A mental sneeze, it felt like; uncomfortable, itchy, a sensation she wanted to claw out of her brain. She twisted her neck, pausing in her steps, to try to be rid of it. As she did, she heard Alistair jog to her side and draw his sword.

“Darkspawn,” he screamed over the winter wind. “Flanking from the north and south! Move!”

“McWhistle, where are you?” Eilwyn cried out, spinning her hands about Alistair’s shoulders to cast him in a divine, protective glow.

“Thank you, love,” he shouted, as if he wasn’t about to run headlong into the snowdrifts in search of a hurlock. As if he was just about to dive headlong into a snowbank on a dare. Eilwyn shook her head, smiling despite herself, and then felt the tickle in the back of her head intensify.

_ At least five of them that way. _

_ Five… six… seven that way. _

_ More beyond that, just waiting. _

_ Something bigger, beyond them. _

McWhistle let out a bone-chilling howl from somewhere closer to the path, and Eilwyn shot forth a hex to mar the ground where she thought she heard him snarling. It would not trigger for her pup, but anything that tried to harm him would be sent flying.

“Eyes on three of them,” Leliana screamed, arrows already flying. The wind did her no favors, but she compensated as Eilwyn watched, and two found their mark quicker than she could track them. As the hurlocks she’d hit screamed and gave away their location, suddenly Zevran materialized from nothing and dug his blades deep into their skulls.

“Two have no more eyes to speak of,” Zevran shouted with a laugh, twisting his knives within the sockets to double-check that they were truly down. She raised her hands towards him, instinct driving her. But no sooner did his laugh fade away, taken by the wind, than he snuck back into the shadows. Eilwyn lost sight of him completely.

“Zevran!” she yelled, panic alight in her.

With a hiss of fabric, Zevran was at her side in an instant. Pulling the hood of his cloak a bit away from his eyes, he spun his daggers so that their flat edges lay flush against his forearms. With fingers extended towards her, he kept a grip on the blade as he gestured to her.

“What is it, my friend?” he shouted over the wind. “You are hurt?”

Before he could say anything more, Eilwyn reached out with both hands and cupped his cold cheeks in her palms. His eyes widened, his expression falling away, and his tongue darted out to draw his lip in between his teeth.

Seemingly as soon as her protective magic seeped into his skin, Zevran closed his eyes.

No, not merely closed.

He scrunched them tight, wrenching himself away from her. His expression tore at her, and Eilwyn felt her own eyes flint in confusion.

“Thank you, Warden, but I am in no need of magical shielding,” Zevran bit out. “Conserve your-”

Before he could protest more, he turned and threw one of his knives straight backwards, catching an advancing hurlock before it could reach Leliana.

As if it had proven his point better than words, he did not turn back to Eilwyn. She was left standing there, wind whipping her robes about her legs, snow coating her exposed skin and biting ice into her veins.

There was no time for feeling snubbed, however. She had work to do. Hiking up her skirts, she turned in a circle and let her mind draw out the location of the enemy.

_ Seven still behind you, where Alistair ran. _

_ Where Wynne followed. _

_ Morrigan is beyond Zevran, I can feel her magic. _

_ Sten… is… somewhere. _

Eilwyn broke into a run to where she could see Alistair fending off an emmissary, her staff already finding its way to her hand and spinning effortlessly as she rifled through her mental list of spells. Upon reaching his side, she imagined exploding the air around them like popping a bubble; the sonic blast she emitted sent their enemies scattering.

“Good timing, this ambush,” Alistair said over the clang of metal against metal.

Eilwyn, already out of breath and casting two paralysis traps beyond for the incoming wave, glanced over at him as if he had absolutely lost his mind.

“Good!?”

Alistair laughed.

“I’m just saying,” he grunted, slamming his pommel so hard into the genlock before them that Eilwyn thought she saw teeth burst from the damned creature’s mouth. It was hard to tell with the way snowflakes fell fat and insistent about her, clogging her vision.

Alistair jogged past her, tossing her a dashing grin over his shoulder as he did. It was a smile that she didn’t need to see clearly to catch.

“Just saying what?” Eilwyn demanded, sending a volley of lightning blasts past where Alistair was running to. The hurlock that had been advancing dropped to his knees, convulsing in pain. “That it’s good because we didn’t bother setting anything up yet? Or that it’s good because you were getting bored of walking?”

“Both,” he shouted, raising his sword high above his head as he jumped, landing squarely on a second hurlock and just barely missing the lightning that still arced dangerously about his feet.

McWhistle came bounding up, eager to meet his master, and gave an excited bark when he saw Alistair knock the final darkspawn into the paralyzing wards Eilwyn had thrown. With a breathless laugh, despite the danger and the absurdity of it, Eilwyn looked down at her mabari and then back up to her warrior.

“Well, what are you waiting for? Go help him!”

McWhistle launched forward, and Eilwyn followed on his heels, the exhilaration of a fight momentarily taking away the sting and freeze of the Brecilian winter surrounding her.

* * *

Later that night, once they had cleared the corpses, tended to their minor wounds, and then hiked further from the forest, everyone set about making camp. In order to conserve warmth, instead of pitching separate tents, they managed to layer the pitches to where each tent was connected to the other.

The layers of waterproof material that Eilwyn had chosen particularly for its heft was too heavy to be blown away, and conserved heat along the gaps where the tents layered over one another. There were more struts inside the long, rectangular space than in a normal tent, but it felt absurdly nice to be sleeping actually alongside her other companions.

She’d shared a room with Leliana, a tent with both her and Wynne, but she’d never even seen Morrigan inside hers before. They lay close, McWhistle laying between what Leliana coquettishly dubbed the ‘girl side’ and ‘boy side’ of the tent. Sten took the far corner, stretching out and folding his arms over his chest, and almost immediately falling sleep. Wynne and Leliana had first watch, but set up their bedrolls just the same, next to one another and boxing Morrigan slightly in.

Eilwyn waited, standing half-hunched as she watched everyone else decide where they would be sleeping before she bedded down. Alistair, endearingly enough, seemed to be doing the same.

_ Oh. _

Her heart had redoubled its pace at the mere thought of a sleepy Alistair within arm’s reach. She was certain he wouldn’t touch her, wouldn’t breach that unspoken ethic between them, but this was about the distance they’d lain next to one another up on the rock by the waterfall.

_ When I undressed in front of him. _

_ When he helped me… _

_ When we…  _

The thought sent a shiver of excitement pulsing through her, followed quickly by a wave of mild nausea. The idea that she was around him was invigorating. The idea that the others were also close by, close enough to see and remember and judge… that was less so.

Still, she was reminded of being a child again. She’d had friends in other dormitory rooms, friends her age, and sometimes she would sneak out to crawl into bed with the other girls. They’d read books by lamplight, giggling underneath of the blankets until the Templars had come by to tell them to go to sleep.

This was similar.

_ I can’t believe sleep continues to be a thrilling concept when it’s near him. _

It was different, she told herself, even as she blushed from the idiocy of it. Normally in separate tents, she couldn’t see him sleep-mussed. Couldn’t catch the way he looked when his face was entirely relaxed, when his breathing was deep and even. Not like she’d been able to see back at the Spoiled Princess. Even then, when she'd had opportunity, he'd woken up before her and escaped.

_ He’d been so warm. _

_ Alistair runs hot, when he’s in bed at least. _

Her face and chest burning with quiet shame, Eilwyn noticed that Alistair was rolling out his blankets by McWhistle, with Zevran off to his left. Eilwyn used the mabari as a dividing wall, laying out her own bedroll on his opposite side. It seemed to make the dog incredibly happy, having two people he liked on either side of him, preparing to snuggle him.

“I have second watch,” Alistair said to Eilwyn as he began to unbuckle from his armor. He averted his gaze, as if shy around her, but did not stop undressing. “Want me to wake you when I get up?”

“You need someone to scout the perimeter with you?”

“Yes,” he said slowly. “But if the snowstorm continues like this, it’ll be a short peek, more than a walk. Then it’ll be mostly comprised of staying up building card towers until third watch rolls around.”

Eilwyn chuckled.

“So you just want to take advantage of my company, then?”

“I know, it’s weird that you’re so willing to just let me,” Alistair teased in a singsong. “You’d think I’d have gotten on your last nerve by now, and yet you keep agreeing to be with me.”

Eilwyn shoved his thigh lightly, and when their eyes met she could feel her smile as more a state of being than a mere facial expression. Her touch on his leg gentled.

She pulled her hand away before she could get too tempted.

“Sure, I’ll take it with you,” she said, forcing levity into her tone to counterbalance the tenderness. “Might even stay awake through the first!”

“Mmm,” Alistair gave a little hum. “Nightmares still?”

His intuition sliced surprisingly through her, and Eilwyn didn’t answer. She had been hearing the Archdemon as of late, when her dreams were deep and her sleep uninterrupted. Without wanting to be a burden, she’d taken to merely trying to put them aside. Such horrors were normal, to be expected, and to be gotten used to.

She hadn’t wanted Alistair to worry, either. Not when she could have him focused on kissing her, and doing other such things.

_ You have to re-examine your priorities. _

_ No winter gear because of them, you don’t want to shoot yourself in the foot any further. _

“Yeah. Nightmares still,” Eilwyn answered lamely. “You?”

“Me too.”

“At least I’m not alone in this,” she muttered, and yet she wished, darkly, that she was. Anything to spare Alistair the terror she felt when the Archdemon, even the shade of it in the dream realm, turned its fiery, infected gaze to hers. Even if he did seem to be handling it better than she was, outwardly anyway.

With his gauntlets off, Alistair reached for her and clasped her shoulder in a quick squeeze. She glanced up and gave him what she hoped was a reassuring little grin.

“Settle in and at least  _ try _ to sleep,” he said gently. “Who knows? Maybe with everyone near you, it’ll be enough of a comfort to quell the Archdemon’s ravings for a night.”

“Right,” Eilwyn chuckled.

Behind Alistair’s shoulder, she caught Zevran’s eye.

Without thinking, she smiled.

He glanced down, then pulled his cloaks tighter about himself and seemed to settle into his bedroll for the night. At the mere connection of her eyes, he turned facing the opposite wall, and it was difficult not to interpret that as being somehow her fault.

Even if it wasn’t something Eilwyn had done, it was unsettling, having Zevran so quiet. Normally, he was raucous and joking with Alistair and Leliana, sometimes even provoking Wynne if she’d had a spot of wine.

But not as of late. Not since they’d dealt with Zathrian, not really.

And now, in his corner of the communal tent, he was silent, turning his body towards Sten instead of looking to where Eilwyn sat.

“Here,” Alistair held up his cloak, providing her with a quick makeshift curtain. “Holler when you’re decent.”

“Your arms are going to get tired,” Eilwyn chided, but she was already divesting.

Sten was right, she thought for the umpteenth time. These robes had lasted her quite a long time, but she’d been saving her coin and it was high time to splurge on a winter set. One in a color she liked would be nice, if one was allowed to hope for such things.

_ I know I’ll take what I can get. _

_ But oh, to be dressed in red…  _

“Alright. Tell me if this is a ridiculous plan, but! What I’m thinking we do,” she said to the group as she unlaced her leather vest and peeled it free from her torso, “is head back towards the Spoiled Princess from here. Investigate Genitivi while we’re in the area, restock on supplies, maybe double check with the Enchanter that the Tower’s rebuilding process is going alright. And then head to Denerim once we find out what we need to find out.”

“We can be at the Princess in a matter of days,” Alistair confirmed.

From her corner of the tent, Morrigan gave a hum of agreement.

“Yes, I have missed the smell of… how did you describe Calenhad, Qunari? It was a rather apt assessment, if I remember correctly.”

“Like warm garbage, with a touch of algae,” Sten muttered from behind the makeshift curtain.

Someone snorted, but Eilwyn couldn’t tell if it was Alistair or Zevran. She scoffed.

“Well. It’s winter, so the smell won’t be as… noticeable.”

“Let us hope,” Morrigan said, and Sten grunted rough agreement from beyond Alistair’s cloak.

“Are you done, my dear?” Alistair asked.

“Why?” she teased. “Was I correct? Are you getting tired already?”

Alistair gave a dark chuckle.

“I might be a bit sore from today. Felled an ogre, you know. Just putting that out there for consideration.”

“Give me one minute,” Eilwyn said, peeking up above the cloak to shoot him a smile. “I’m almost done.”

She finished undressing and tucked her robes down by her feet. Pulling a sleeping shirt from her pack, she tugged the light garment over her head and shimmied underneath of her blankets.

_ It’s a bit see-through. _

_ Has it always been that see-through? _

“You’re, um, you’re good,” she said, pulling Alistair’s cloak as she snuggled into her bedroll. With an over-exaggerated sigh, he let the cloak fall on top of her in a heavy heap. She gave a playful sputter as she pushed the fur cloak off of her face, and threw it in a lump back to her warrior.

McWhistle yawned, his gaze following Eilwyn’s arm lazily as she relaxed back into her bedroll. He curled up against her side, and once Eilwyn was settled and comfortable, Alistair turned down the oil lamp.

Beyond the tent, there came a quick laugh from Leliana, and Wynne’s answering reply. The wind still whipped fiercely outside, but Eilwyn could feel her arm hairs slightly raised, and suspected Wynne had cast a bit of a barrier for their walk on first watch.

“Think they’re okay?” she murmured, her eyelids suddenly heavy.

“Who, Wynne and Leliana?” Alistair asked.

His voice was low, rich, and Eilwyn turned to watch as he folded and rearranged clothing in his pack. Blinking slowly, she nodded, and he gave her a warm smile.

“They’re fine, magelet. Just a standard sweep. They’ll be back in a moment.”

“Mmm. Think we’re okay?”

“How do you mean?”

Eilwyn was certain she answered. She imagined that she formed words, imagined that she said them, could feel them thick and heavy on her tongue. But after a minute, she couldn’t remember if she’d said anything out loud, not really. Her eyes were too heavy to keep open, her limbs sinking into the furs and blankets beneath her.

She felt something heavy on her forehead, pulling back stray strands of hair in a gesture much like how she pet McWhistle.

“Good boy,” she muttered.

Alistair laughed, sounding like he was surprised.

“Um, thank you?”

“Welcome.”

She felt a kiss brush her forehead and she reached out, expecting Alistair to pull her into his arms. She was met with a slobbery mabari tongue across her temple. McWhistle threw one paw to her shoulder when she tried to move again, as if to say, ‘hush, human, sleep now’.

_ I mean, he might as well be saying that. _

_ Dog’s got more sense than I do. _

_ Maybe he can fetch me a set of winter robes, if I ask him. _

“Goodnight,” Eilwyn murmured, throwing her arm about McWhistle’s belly. Before she could even hear if any of her companions answered her, sleep was pulling her into its warm, comfortable blackness.

* * *

Alistair was right. Tonight, for some reason, she didn’t dream.

Perhaps it was the combination of everyone being piled up together like puppies in the communal tent, or maybe the dull din of voices as Leliana and Wynne kept one another awake through first watch; maybe it was the fact that they'd dispatched of small contingent of blighted monsters before bedding down, and therefore had cleaned the area of them; either way, Eilwyn felt only a strange sense of nostalgia as she napped.

She felt oddly safe.

She was reminded of home, of the Circle. The good parts of it, anyway. The community, the people you could rely on, the feeling of never being alone.

After a while of dipping pleasantly in and out of deeper sleep, Eilwyn felt Leliana slide into the bedroll next to her. When Eilwyn snuggled up to her for a moment, Leliana pushed back, not shying away from her closeness. The warmth of the blankets and furs around them paired with the blanketed quiet outside their tent was the perfect combination for lulling Eilwyn back to dreamless rest.

It was a wonderful couple of hours.

By the time a hand shook her shoulder, Eilwyn had curved into Leliana’s body as she always tended to do, her arm tight about her friend’s waist.

“Nghh,” Eilwyn grunted, her mouth dry.

“I know. But it’s our turn,” Alistair said, his voice gravelly, as if he’d been in a deep sleep before Wynne shook him awake. Eilwyn blinked blearily up at him, and he leaned down to plant a kiss on her forehead. “Take your time. It sounds like the wind’s died down, I can do a perimeter sweep by myself.”

“No. Just… wake me when you have your armor on,” she muttered, already dipping back into sleep. “Just a bit longer.”

It felt like no time passed, but when Alistair shook her again, he’d donned his leathers and layered his cloaks.

“You don’t have to, but feel free to join me. If you want, whenever you’re ready,” he whispered. Turning to the mabari between them, Alistair snapped his fingers.

McWhistle, to his credit, glanced at Eilwyn first. She nodded, waving for him to follow Alistair, and the dog leapt to his feet before giving a long, languid stretch and shake. Eilwyn forced herself to sit up, to take a faceful of the cold midnight air from beyond the tent to steel her.

_ Don’t want to wake up. _

_ It’s been a while since I’ve thought that. _

_ Kind of nice to feel like going back to bed. _

She turned to put her robes on, and was halfway stretched towards her pack, when she realized she wasn’t the only one sitting up and maneuvering clothes on.

“Zev?” she whispered.

He raised his chin to her in greeting, but otherwise ignored her and continued to buckle his leathers onto his shin.

“You want to take watch too?” Eilwyn asked.

Without McWhistle and Alistair between them, Zevran was only a scoot away. Grabbing her pack, she moved closer to his side, sliding into Alistair’s blankets as she did so.

_ His bedroll’s still warm. _

The elf in front of her sighed deeply.

“I want to take a walk,” Zevran stated, and his voice still managed to sound clipped, even in a whisper. “Why? Is that so odd?”

“After the snowstorm we just barely missed?” Eilwyn tucked her knees underneath of her and gave a noiseless chuckle. “Yes. Kind of.”

“Well,” the elf paused and looked up at her with a devilish grin. “You know me. Daring risks are my bread and jam, as you say.”

She gave a little scoff, and he went back to dressing before her.

“Before you go,” Eilwyn said, stopping him before he could pull his gauntlets over his forearms.

Zevran glanced at her with narrowed eyes, the tight line of his mouth drawn thin, and she reached into her pack to pull out a little fabric parcel. He didn’t take it, so she dropped it unceremoniously onto his lap.

“For you, Zevran.”

“A… gift?”

“Yes.” Eilwyn yawned, then rubbed both hands over her face to try to wake herself up further. “I meant to give it to you earlier, but we just haven’t had the time. You can open it now, it might be of use to you.”

“I…” Zevran shut his mouth, then opened the parcel with a tug on the twine holding it together. The gift itself tumbled out onto his lap, and he held it up to the meager lamplight that Alistair had left lit behind himself.

“Are they okay?”

“Gloves?” he whispered. After a pause, he held them up to his face. “You’re giving me gloves? What for?”

“Do you remember the last chance we got to talk? Like, really talk, before things got,” Eilwyn trailed off, then waved her hands in front of her face in a kind of flailing madness.

Zevran said nothing, but she could see him crack a smile.

“It was right when we entered the Brecilian,” she continued, “and you told me about your family a little bit, about your adventures. And I remember that you said your mother had gloves like these so…” Eilwyn shrugged and then smiled brightly at him. “I went ahead and bought some for you.”

She could tell he found that amusing, and for a moment perhaps he didn’t believe her. He went to say something, then cut himself off with a gasp as he turned the gloves once more in his own hands.

“I-” the word stopped in his throat, and Eilwyn felt her pulse race at the anticipation.

_ Are they the wrong kind? _

_ Was this too forward? _

_ Are they, Maker forbid it, too small? Or of poor quality? _

“Maker’s breath,” Zevran whispered, “you’re right. It is like my mother’s pair.” He squinted slightly at them, even going so far as to try one on. He flexed his fingers, and Eilwyn heard the satisfying creak of the hide. Zevran gave an appreciative little groan. “The leather was less thick, and it had more embroidery, but these are very, very close.”

His tone had shifted, going from tired and closed off back to the easygoing Zevran she knew. Eilwyn beamed, and reached out to run her hands across the design on the back of the one he wore.

“So you like them?”

“They are quite handsome,” he said, sounding a bit breathless. “Why? Do I seem surprised?”

Eilwyn nodded, grinning broadly, and Zevran hung his head with a huff of a laugh. With the hand not being cradled in Eilwyn’s, he pulled a strand of blonde hair back behind his ear.

“Perhaps I am.” He shook his head, and the strand he’d pulled back fell once more defiantly free. He didn’t seem to notice much, merely continued speaking in that happy, hushed tone. “I appreciate the fact that you even thought of me, dove. You didn’t have to do that.”

“You’re my friend,” she said, giving his hand a firm squeeze. “You always make me feel listened to, and you never make me feel ridiculous. I wanted to try to do the same for you. Show you how much I appreciate your conversation, and your company.”

His brow furrowed as she spoke, but instead of turning his gaze from hers, he kept steady eye contact. In his gaze, Eilwyn thought she could read something akin to admiration, but that thought was so intimate and surprising that she immediately pushed it from her mind.

_ It’s just a trick of the light. _

_ That, and the ethereal way elf eyes reflect in the night. _

_ That’s all. _

“You do not blame me for what happened, then?” he asked.

“No.”

She wasn’t under the impression that pretending she didn’t know what Zevran was referencing would do them any good. She had been angry at first that his scouting ahead hadn’t caught the traps, but when she thought of it, he had been waylaid at her side by her own command. It was as much her fault as his, if there was any blame to even be given.

_ And maybe there isn’t any to be given, after all. _

“Hmm.”

His little sigh was barely audible, a noise that Eilwyn was glad she caught.

“So they’re okay?” she whispered, for lack of anything better to say in the moment.

“Yes. No one has simply given me a gift before, so I am at a bit of a loss,” Zevran said quietly. Then, with a happy tilt of his head he smiled even more broadly. In a tone that spoke of barely contained excitement, he whispered quickly, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. It’s a gift, and, uh, an apology,” she replied.

“Apology?”

“I…” Eilwyn stared down at his leather-covered palm, still laying in her own. “I haven’t been a good friend to you, I don’t think. Haven’t asked how you were lately, even though I knew that being confronted with the Dalish might have been… difficult. For you. What with your mother and all.”

Zevran let out a choked little laugh, as if he’d meant to keep it from escaping and failed. Eilwyn glanced up at him, but he managed to keep merely a look of joviality about his features.

“You thought that my mood in the forest was related to my history, or lack thereof, with the Dalish?”

Eilwyn frowned, and she blinked, catching sleep on her eyelashes as she did so.

_ If not that, then what  _ _ was _ _ on his mind? _

_ Because something was, and still is. _

_ That much is obvious. _

She brought up her free hand to rub at her face, trying to infer something from that comment, something that eluded her just this moment, but Zevran beat her to it.

“Little dove,” he murmured, his voice honeyed and warm. “I appreciate what you did for the Dalish, and I am under no stress from your decision-making, if that is what you fear. You made the right choice, and a hard one at that.”

“Hard?”

“Yes. It would have been easier to just kill the man,” Zevran chuckled. “But you do not seem to ever resort to such things, do you?”

“I suppose not.” Eilwyn shifted to sit more comfortably, and ran her fingers across the embroidery on his glove. “You said I made the right choice. Even though I held you back, you feel this way?”

“You did not so much hold me back as offer… a sort of balm, if you will,” Zevran said, shrugging his shoulders. “Your positivity counteracts some of the instincts that keep us all alive, yes. But it also soothes.”

It was a bit too deep of a conversation to have after such a deep sleep, and Zevran seemed to realize that before Eilwyn herself did. He donned the other leather glove, then brought both of Eilwyn’s hands to his lips to kiss.

Surprisingly, the act seemed more chaste than romantic.

Which was only surprising because of who was doing the kissing.

Zevran dropped her hands and finished buckling his armor over his chest.

“You are a dear friend too, Eilwyn. Now. Go join your warrior, lest he walk himself into a snowbank and have to fight his way out unguarded.”

“Alistair wouldn’t-”

Eilwyn cut herself off, imagining that yes, Alistair absolutely ran the risk of doing just that. For fun. To see how deep it went.

“Right,” she said, giving a bashful little grimace. “Turn around, I’m going to change.”

“No need,” Zevran pulled his cloak about himself. “I’m still going for that walk.”

He pulled the tent flap open, and Eilwyn inhaled the bracing cold wind as he stepped outside. He turned to her, as if an afterthought had just occurred to him. Leaning down, he stuck his head back into the tent.

“I will watch your fellow Warden,” he said cheerily. “Just until you join us.”

“Thank you.”

“At your service, Eilwyn,” Zevran said, a genuine smile flitting briefly across his features. His eyes catlike in the low light, he bowed with a little flourish. As he raised up and let the tent flap fall, Eilwyn thought she heard a quiet sigh.

But it could just as easily have been the wind come back again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The WIP title of this was "is Zevran okay", and I will leave you to decide for yourselves if he is or not. Work has been absolutely insane, I have about 4 WIPs for various fandoms, as well as a replay I want to get done. Seems to be very little time. I appreciate you sticking with me, though ☆⌒ヽ(´ε｀ )

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [The Right Choice](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14787932) by [samzillastomps](https://archiveofourown.org/users/samzillastomps/pseuds/samzillastomps)




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